


Coexist

by ViziVoir



Series: CU Redemption AUs [1]
Category: Captain Underpants Series - Dav Pilkey
Genre: Character Development, Melvin Sneedly (Captain Underpants), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:15:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11260170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViziVoir/pseuds/ViziVoir
Summary: The Mr. Krupp redemption AU we all deserve.Slow-burn, short-ish chapters with Very Frequent updates. I'm talking, like, 3-4 a week. Plus there's a robot fight. You should totally read this fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda nervous about posting this, but honestly? I've been lurking in this fandom for too long anyway.  
> I'll try to update this when I can. If you want to speed up the process, though, leave a comment. Please. I crave validation

Mr. Krupp hated surprises.

Well, not surprises like pop quizzes. Or thunderstorms that got recess canceled.

But Mr. Krupp definitely hated surprises like suddenly facing down a trio of bank robbers in his underwear.

"What is going on?!" he screamed, pulling the curtain inexplicably attached to his neck around his body in an effort to maintain some modesty. "Who are you people? Why am I wet? I demand answers!"

The bank robbers in front of him cowered in fear, trembling - all except one, who was too unconscious to do much cowering.

"I'm so confused right now," whispered one of them with a bruise on his face.

"Is he still going to kick our butts?" asked the other, eyes wide with terror.

A few short days ago, this would have Mr. Krupp babbling like a baby in confusion. He would've made sounds probably similar to "Aguhh," or maybe "Wahwhuhwah who?"

But not today. See, this wasn't the first time Mr. Krupp had suddenly been thrust into a situation like this, clad in only his underwear and his office curtain. It wasn't even the second time.

And by this point, he was just mad.

Mr. Krupp seethed in silence for about three seconds, trying to find words to express the sheer amount of frustration he was experiencing. He would've seethed a bit longer, but he was interrupted by approaching police sirens.

A policewoman burst into the room, donut dust covering her mouth. "Everybody, freeze!" She brandished a pen aggressively, seeming to realize it wasn't a weapon, but too embarrassed to acknowledge it.

She lowered her hand and coughed nervously as more police entered and began handcuffing the criminals. "Uh. You, did this?" she asked Mr. Krupp.

"I have no idea what's happening!" he yelled.

"It was definitely him," one of the criminals moaned. "Crazy. You're about to rob a bank, and BAM! POW! Some guy in his underwear busts through the wall.

The policewoman blinked in confusion at the would-be thief. "... You're still going to jail."

She turned to Mr. Krupp. "Thanks for helping us catch these guys, mister..."

Mr. Krupp, with his teeth gritted, didn't volunteer his name.

She coughed again as he twitched slightly, avoiding eye contact and glancing around the room, which was in chaos. The front desk was snapped in half, a vase of wilting flowers on a shelf had fallen over, there was a person-shaped hole in the wall, and there was a nearly naked, crime-fighting bald man in front of her.

"Well. Uh. Thanks," she repeated. "I'm just gonna...I'll just pretend I didn't see any of this." She gestured to his whole body, awkwardly finger gunned him, and walked away.

Mr. Krupp, after some relatively vicious insults towards the shaken bank teller, stalked off in what he assumed to be the direction of his elementary school.

His sense of direction proved to be correct, as a duo of small and very frantic boys nearly barreled into him.

"Oh, there you are!" said the curly-haired one on the left.

"Finally," said the one on the right, panting heavily. "It took us so long to run here. No one left any heavy machinery unlocked and running! Can you believe it?"

"It's ridiculous," Harold agreed. "There ought to be a law."

Mr. Krupp ignored this exchange as he towered over the boys, as best he could while wearing just a curtain and his underwear, at least.

"Harold, George, if you don't tell me--"

George raised his hand before he could finish his sentence, and

-and Mr. Krupp was sitting, fully clothed and still wet for some reason, in front of the desk in his office.

Bewildered for a second, he noticed a George-sized blur dash around the door. Mr. Krupp stood up, pounding his hands on the desk and leaning forward.

"If you two don't get back here right this second, you're in BIG trouble, bubs!" Mr. Krupp shouted, knowing full well that would never convince them.

He slouched dejectedly into his chair and groaned loudly, running his hands down his face and staring at a stain on his desk.

Even if he got them back in, the two boys would just dodge the question, and no amount of threats of detention or extra homework would sway them. He didn't know what it was, but the boys seemed to have lost a lot of their fear towards him lately. It was really annoying.

He'd already tried moving them to separate classes, to no avail. The paperwork kept mysteriously vanishing - and if anything, their pranks had only somehow gotten worse. They were being sneakier about it, too, despite his best efforts to catch them in the act. He didn't think even a hidden video camera would work this time.

Wait. That was it.

A video camera - he could just record himself and see what happened when he blanked out!

It was the perfect plan. It couldn't quite solve his problem with George and Harold, but it would definitely work this time. He would just put one up in his office, see what was happening, and... 

And he'd figure it out from there.


	2. Chapter 2

The camera Mr. Krupp installed in the top corner of his office didn't come in handy for four days.

On the fifth day, when Mr. Krupp had to stay after hours to finish some paperwork, a janitor mopped the floor outside his office while listening to music from a radio.

Normally, Mr. Krupp would have just glared at them and put in earplugs. However, the janitor happened to be listening to an upbeat jazz song.

As it was, Mr. Krupp remembered fishing out his earplugs while a saxophone solo played, and then nothing.

This time, he returned to consciousness in a gas station when someone in a ski mask threw a cup of soda directly at his face.

"Oh, come on!" That was going to ruin his toupee for sure. He ran his hands over his head and - of course. He wasn't wearing it.

Just his underwear and his office curtain.

Mr. Krupp turned to the cashier with a snarl. "Get this idiot to the police," he growled, pointing viciously at the thwarted criminal. Before they could respond, he stomped out of the gas station.

George and Harold had gone home for the day, so this time, he had to return to the school and change into his clothes himself. He washed off the soda as best he could in the bathroom's disgusting, child-sized sink.

And then, Mr. Krupp went back into his office to stare at the video camera for a few minutes.

There was a pretty good chance, he mused, that he didn't even want to know what sort of shenanigans Harold and George were subjecting him to when he blanked out. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

Be that as it may, he was an adult, dammit! Ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away. He was being childish, Mr. Krupp scolded himself. There had to be a logical explanation.

...A logical explanation for why he, Mr. Krupp, principal of Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School, would strip down to his underwear, tie a curtain around his neck, and wake up to scenes of mayhem with no memory of how he got there.

He huffed slightly. Enough of this useless dithering.

Mr. Krupp dragged a stepstool from a nearby storage closet and climbed up to the camera. He removed the film, climbed down, and replaced the stepstool, before returning to his office and locking the door behind him.

He placed the tape on his desk gingerly and moved the TV so it couldn't be seen from the door. With no small amount of trepidation, he inserted the tape and hit play.

The screen showed an empty room.

He huffed in annoyance, and hit fast forward.

Mr. Krupp walked onscreen in a fast-forwarded blur. He sat down, did paperwork at light speed, and then he was gone, leaving behind most of his clothes and an open window.

There it was. He rewinded the tape to the exact moment it happened.

In the video, he was riffling through his drawer while muttering. There was no audio, but he could see his lips moving.

...Did he really mutter like that?

In any case, he didn't have time to reflect on it further. Onscreen, Mr. Krupp suddenly sat bolt-upright, a sharp contrast to his characteristic slouch. A silly grin spread across his face as he pulled off most of his clothes and toupee.

He snatched his red curtain off its hooks and tied it around his back like a cape. Before Mr. Krupp could process any of that, though, the video showed him jumping onto his desk, shouting something while pointing his finger in the air, and rushing towards the window.

He - no, that couldn't be him - the person who looked like him, but there was no way it was still Mr. Krupp in there, rushed towards the window. Mr. Krupp thought for a second the man was going to crash through, but they seemed to reconsider and opened the window, albeit with a bit of difficulty.

They jumped out.

"Wh... Wha... Buhuh hobba bwuh," he stammered, staring at the footage of his empty office slack-jawed. The remaining curtain billowed in the breeze from the open window.

Mr. Krupp kept staring and stammering. After some time, the video showed him arriving onscreen again, getting dressed, and removing the camera while glaring into it. The video ended, but Mr. Krupp just stared at the black screen.

His gibbering died out eventually, and he removed the tape from the player. Then, he stared at that.

Mr. Krupp took the tape and left his office in a daze, passing Ms. Anthrope on the way out. She offered her traditional greeting: "Hey," her voice both lifeless and full of spite.

He kept walking, not responding in the slightest.

"Alright, fine, be that way," she scoffed, but he didn't seem to hear that either.

By the time he reached his house, Mr. Krupp was laughing quietly to himself. "Out the window... underwear... curtains..."

He went inside and closed the drab door behind him, slouching against it.

"HOW?" he shouted to no one, throwing his hands up in a gesture of exasperation.

The tape was shoved behind some old files in the most decrepit drawer he could find, which was saying a lot, considering the state his house was in.

That night, Mr. Krupp skipped dinner and headed to bed early. He wasn't tired, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep, but he didn't feel like doing much of anything but lying in the dark and staring at the ceiling.

The footage of him stripping to his underwear and standing on a desk replayed over and over in his mind in stunning detail. The way his shoes got kicked halfway across the room. The dramatic pose he struck.

That pose. There was something familiar about that pose, now that he had the mental capacity to process it.

...It was a second story window he had jumped out of.

Somehow, that was what did it. A second story window, but he was totally unharmed. Mr. Krupp burst into wild, manic laughter. This whole thing was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

And the worst thing was, he couldn't seem to control it at all.

He woke up the next morning without even realizing he'd fallen asleep. There were a few seconds of disoriented peace, before yesterday's events came flooding back to him like a bad dream.

He knew it was no dream, though - his dreams were never that crazy. Usually he was filing taxes on the moon, or handing out detention slips to superheros, or something.

He felt his blood coursing suddenly with red-hot anger. That was good, he decided. Better than any of the other things he could be feeling right now.

There were a lot of things Mr. Krupp didn't know, after watching that video. But the one thing of which he was absolutely certain, was that George and Harold were to blame for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I learned you can't add a chapter from mobile. (Or, at least, that I'm very bad at it.)  
> This one was really fun to write. That's partly why you're getting an update so early, lucky you!  
> The other part (besides my total lack of self-control) is all the lovely feedback I've been getting. Thank you so much for the kind words!  
> And, hey, if you wanna leave some MORE kind words... I'll see if I can hook you up with another update on the quick. Hint hint.


	3. Chapter 3

Mr. Krupp stormed into school the next day with a vengeance. Even the other teachers knew to stay out of his way.

That morning, Ms. Ribble delivered the morning announcements in a tone that could almost be called nervous.

"And George, Harold, come to the principal's office." She hung up the intercom immediately.

If it was any other pair of students, the class would be in a hubbub. As it was, literally no one was surprised.

In their different classrooms, Harold and George left their seats before the teacher said anything. At this point, they knew the drill.

George dawdled in the hallway until Harold caught up with him. "What do you think this is about?" he asked. "We haven't even done anything."

"Except for rearranging the lunchroom sign. We just did that ten minutes ago," Harold reminded him.

George shrugged. "Sure, but that's just standard."

"And we also replaced all the coffee in the teacher's lounge with chamomile tea on Monday," his friend added.

"Well, it was their fault for leaving the door open."

Harold nodded. "That's true."

They reached their destination, Harold staring straight ahead.

"Hey, don't worry." George nudged him with his elbow. "It'll be just like usual. Mr. Krupp yells at us, he can't prove anything, and we get off scotch free. No problem.

"Besides, what are they gonna do, move us to separate schools? We've survived a giant toilet robot, man. They can't touch us," he said, with more confidence than he felt.

"Right," said Harold. "What's the worst that could happen?"

They opened the door, and were met with the sight of Mr. Krupp staring a hole in a spot on his wall. He was sitting at his desk, hunched over even more than usual, fingertips pressed together in front of his face.

"Boys. Have a seat." When he finally spoke, it was in a voice like gnarled trees in January: cold, dead, and unsettling for reasons you can't quite put words to.

George and Harold glanced at each other. Whatever lecture they'd been expecting to get, this wasn't it.

They sat, George nervously scooting his chair a bit further from the desk.

"Now, you and I both know I don't have proof," Mr. Krupp began, focusing his stare alternately on each of the boys. "But I've been experiencing some rather peculiar gaps in my memory lately, and I have reason to believe you two are behind it." His tone was pointedly even, as if he was beyond even shouting.

They shared a look again. Harold had started looking down and fidgeting, while George sat stiff as a board.

"Do you have anything to say about this?" Mr. Krupp asked, malice coiled in his words.

Harold opened his mouth to speak, when George interrupted him.

"That doesn't make any sense. How could we, two upstanding elementary school students, just magically give you amnesia?" He laughed nervously.

"Yeah," Harold added. "Yeah, we're- we're upstanding school students! We never used magic on you!"

Mr. Krupp dropped his hands, pushed himself away from the desk, and stood up slowly. The boys were obviously lying. He still had no idea what was causing this, but it was crystal clear they at least knew something.

I mean, come on, he thought to himself. The whole thing was completely humiliating. It was just like one of their...

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

"I'm Captain Underpants," he whispered.

Harold gasped and flinched back slightly. George's eyes widened, and he somehow became even more tense.

"Why. Am I. Captain. Underpants." Mr. Krupp ground out from behind gritted teeth, leaning menacingly towards the boys with his hands curled into fists on his desk.

George snapped his fingers.

"Why did you do that?!" Harold yelped.

"I panicked, okay? Look, it's fine. We'll just tell him... We'll just tell him that, uh..."

Meanwhile, a goofy grin spread across Mr. Krupp's face. He flopped into the chair, rolling backwards due to his momentum.

"Greetings, sidekicks! I appear to be wearing these ridiculous, constraining clothes again." He began pulling them off, but George stopped him.

"No no no, no! Don't do that!" George put his hands up. "It's your secret identity again. You have to just, stay there and stay in that outfit."

Harold was freaking out, digging his fingers into his giant, poofy hair. "Oh no, oh jeez, this is bad. What do we do?"

Captain Underpants put a hand on his hip, looking concerned. "You seem distressed, sidekicks. What's the matter? Is this the work of an evil supervillain, one who's determined to take over the school, the country, and eventually the very world?" His voice grew in pitch and volume, until he was practically shouting.

"For I, the Waistband Warrior, shall stop them! I will put smiles back on the faces of the students of this school, and not even the greatest evil can stop me!"

George completely ignored Captain Underpants as he continued his heroic speech.

"Listen, we'll just. We'll keep him as Captain Underpants all the time." George paused. "Argh, no, that's too risky. Maybe we'll say he was abducted by aliens?" 

"Exposed to a high-powered x-ray beam? Or bitten by a mutant spider, or-"

"Can we... just tell him the truth?" George asked.

"He'll never believe us," said Harold.

"He might. It's literally the only explanation. He just has to snap his fingers, and bam. Proof."

"Are you serious?" Harold's voice hitched. 

"It's not like he can do anything about it."

"Okay. Alright, okay, okay." Harold shook his head. "We'll tell him what happened."

"I'll get some water," George said, grabbing an empty coffee mug from Mr. Krupp's desk and heading towards the door.

"Oh, we are in so much trouble," moaned Harold. "They're gonna put us on different planets! No, they're gonna put us in jail. In jail on different planets."

"They're not going to do that," George reassured him. "We just have to say we'll tell everyone about what happens when they snap their fingers. Keep Captain here. I'll be right back."

"Mmkay," Harold replied, as George left.

Captain Underpants, still rambling, cut off suddenly. "Sidekick, where did the other one go?"

"Uh, don't worry about that," said Harold. "You were saying something about, the microwave of justice?"

"Ah, yes, of course," said Captain Underpants. He continued to spout justice-related analogies until George returned, mug filled with water.

"Ready?" George asked.

"No," said Harold.

"Me neither," George replied. He held his breath, and splashed Captain Underpants in the face.

Mr. Krupp sputtered wildly. "You- you did it again! You better start talking now, or-"

"We hypnotized you," Harold interrupted, words spilling out in a rush. "We used the Hypno-Ring to make you think you were a chicken, and then a monkey, and then we saw one of our comics and we thought, we thought-"

"We hypnotized you to think you were Captain Underpants," George chimed in. "But then he started running around trying to stop crimes, and we couldn't-"

"Professor P was evil! He built this giant robot, and-"

"He was going to make everyone stop laughing, and Melvin was there, and he has a ton of lip gloss for some reason?"

"But Captain Underpants got superpowers and he stopped him and saved everybody, and we helped!"

"So long story short, every time somebody snaps their fingers, you turn into Captain Underpants," George summarized.

"And then every time someone dumps water on your head, you change back," finished Harold.

Mr. Krupp stood in stunned silence. No one moved - well, Harold fidgeted wildly, but George and Mr. Krupp didn't move.

"Detention. Both of you."

"But we didn't-"

"Lunch sign. I don't care. Out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda late due to things being crazy at the lab. I'm running on like five hours of sleep, so apologies for the inevitable typo.  
> Lord help me.  
> As always, comments earn my love. I'm gonna go pass out now. Peace.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vizi realizes she's going to have to straighten out these Ediths, and there is a decided lack of Mr. Krupp.  
> Give the poor egg a break.

Ms. Anthrope was not in a good mood.

Well, even worse than usual. Mr. Krupp had left the school entirely after talking to George and Harold, claiming he "didn't feel like himself". His face was pale, and he was slightly sweatier than usual, she recalled.

Normally, she would be positively thrilled about Mr. Krupp being home sick. She'd use the time to catch up on reading her romantic paperback novel of the week: Bear With Me, a story about a woman and a werebear who fell in love in the mountains. Maybe she'd paint her nails, too, or listen to opera music and ignore anything that happened in the entire rest of the school.

But unfortunately, Ms. Anthrope could not do any of those things. By some inconvenient coincidence, he'd walked out on the exact day an uppity private school supervisor was visiting the school. And, since the meeting couldn't be re-scheduled, it technically fell to her to make sure everything went smoothly. Which might be somewhat hard, seeing as she hadn’t even bothered to learn the visitor’s name.

Ms. Anthrope spent the next fifteen minutes waiting at the front desk, stewing in her own annoyance and waiting for them to arrive.

Luckily for her, they weren't hard to spot. A woman walked in like she owned the place, each stride long and purposeful. She was tall, almost uncomfortably so, and her hair was a bright red-orange that bordered on painful.

Ms. Anthrope approached her, doing her best impression of a kind, polite adult with a good grasp on social interaction. "Hello. My name is Diane Anthrope, and welcome to Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School,” she said, in a voice that sounded more robotic than welcoming.

The other woman looked her over in disgust, making little attempt to hide her reaction. "Charmed, I'm sure. Tyra Annett, top recruiter for the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children."

"It's not only an honor but a pleasure to have you here," Ms. Anthrope replied clumsily, convincing no one. "I have a certain student in mind who I think you'd be very interested in. One of our best." The visitor and that little nerd boy even had really similar hair colors, she noticed. Hopefully she could get the two of them alone in a room for a while, and sneak off to at least paint her nails.

"We can start there, then,” Ms. Annett said crisply. “Lead the way." She stared at Ms. Anthrope, who coughed awkwardly after a moment and started towards Ms. Ribble's fourth grade classroom, wishing the whole time she was in her office reading about cheesy werebear romance.

\------

Meanwhile, Harold and George were not having an especially good time either.

"I feel sick," muttered Harold, resting his head in his hands. This time, it wasn't just because of Ms. Ribble's incredibly detailed descriptions of chicken pox, measles, and other diseases.

George, who could relate, still tried to be reassuring. "Relax, it's okay. If Mr. Krupp gives us any problems..." Ms. Ribble turned towards the class and he paused, pretending to write something down. "...He's gone in a snap."

Harold looked up. "That's true. Plus, with how Captain Underpants acts, we can wake him up in all kinds of crazy situations. If Mr. Krupp knows we can do that whenever we want..."

"No more detentions," George grinned.

Ms. Ribble scanned the class suspiciously, as George and Harold tried to look as innocent as possible. She turned back to the blackboard still suspicious, but convinced that the two of them weren't playing some sort of prank.

That wouldn't be true for long, though.

"Hey, I know what would cheer you up," said George. He began folding a piece of paper with practiced expertise, holding up a paper airplane and stifling a giggle.

Harold's eyes lit up. The boys spent the next fifteen minutes folding as many paper airplanes as they could fit in their desks, careful to keep Ms. Ribble from noticing. Honestly, it wasn't too difficult. Once they were done, they surreptitiously passed them out throughout the class.

It was a prank they’d pulled before, and it certainly lacked finesse, but at this point, it was a tried and true classic. Every student but Melvin got at least three projectiles. Every student, again, but Melvin, kept their excitement under control, completely hidden from their teacher.

This says more about Ms. Ribble's observational skills than the incredible self-control of a bunch of fourth graders.

It was George who launched the first one, his singular airplane so quickly followed by a dozen others that when Ms. Ribble turned around, she had no hope of figuring out who made the first shot.

"Argh!" she yelled, diving behind her desk. "What are you doing? Stop, this instant!"

"You heard her! Everyone, stop!" echoed Melvin Sneedly, ever the resident killjoy. "You're making a mockery of this educational insti-" He was rudely interrupted by no fewer than three paper airplanes to the face.

"Why, you, you-" He brandished one of the offending pieces of paper. "This is not only an embarrassment just by sheer principle, it's shoddy construction! I could make a more aerodynamic paper airplane in my sleep!" He glared, then set about proving it, deconstructing the paper airplane and re-creating it meticulously as chaos unfolded around him.

It took Melvin about a minute and a half to finish his work. He held it aloft to admire it for a moment as papers and shouts continued to fly around him, before launching it with a perfectly calculated trajectory.

The airplane glided smoothly through the air with all the grace of a bird in flight.

It then hit Ms. Annett, who had just opened the door, directly in the forehead. Melvin clapped both hands over his mouth and sat abruptly back down at his desk, hoping no one had noticed.

Ms. Annett had definitely noticed.

She turned to Ms. Anthrope as the class continued to wreak havoc. "If this class contains your best, I should surely hate to see your worst." The imposing woman faced the classroom again, put her fingers to her mouth, and whistled piercingly.

The class froze. Every head in the room turned to stare at her.

"Who started this?" she demanded, heels clicking against the floor as she entered the room.

"It was them! George and Harold!" Ms. Ribble practically shrieked. "It's always them!"

Harold was starting to feel even more sick. George sank lower in his chair.

"I see." Ms. Annett surveyed the room. "George, Harold, and... you. What's your name?" she asked, pointing at Melvin.

"Melvin- Melvin Sneedly, ma'am," he practically grovelled. "And let me just say I am so, so, sorry-"

"I'm sure you are," she interrupted, eyes narrowing threateningly. "Thank you, Diane, I think I've seen everything I need to."

"But, you haven't seen our football team yet! Or the cafeteria!" Ms. Anthrope protested.

"And, trust me, I have zero interest in ever doing so. I appreciate your showing me around. It has been quite... informative," Ms. Annett replied curtly.

She walked purposefully out of the room, leaving stunned silence in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, I'm not good at names! At all!  
> Probably gonna update once every three days for the near future. Having some trouble with ionic liquids and physics professors...  
> ...but before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this one.  
> Please leave a comment! They give me life! I'm like some sort of attention-feeding vampire, over here!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "how many layers of AU are you on?"  
> "like, maybe 5 or 6, my dude"  
> "you are like a little baby. watch this."  
> *writes a scene where lunch-lady Edith talks to Ms. Anthrope*

Several things happened over the next few days at Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School.

Ms. Anthrope finished her book, and moved onto a new one about a dragon shape-shifting vampire hunter and a half-demon. She made every effort to ignore Ms. Annett’s visit, for fear of making Mr. Krupp’s mood even worse.

Taco Tuesday was canceled, due to an unfortunate incident involving the lunch lady forgetting that cheese needs to be refrigerated or it goes bad and starts smelling like moldy socks.

George and Harold played an uncharacteristically low number of pranks - that day's events had completely drained their inspiration, fortunately for every faculty member in the school.

And, finally, Mr. Krupp also instated a staggering number of new rules.

The day after George and Harold's revelation, he eschewed the morning announcements entirely in favor of listing them. They included things like "no chewing gum on school property", "no bringing animals to class", and "no devices altering reality at a molecular level". You'd think Mr. Krupp had just sat down and thought of every fun thing a kid could do within current school rules, and decided to outlaw every one of them.

You wouldn't be too far from the truth, to be perfectly honest.

The students sat through most of these in silence. At this point, nothing short of chaining them to their desks would be unexpected of their principal. His last statement, though, sent confused whispers circulating through the entire school.

"And finally, there will be absolutely no snapping your fingers on school grounds. Anyone who does not comply will be suspended for a minimum of one week," he growled. The document he'd printed everything out on was no less than five pages long.

"Teachers will be expected to comply with these new regulations as well. That is all." The intercom clicked and went dead.

Mr. Krupp received a variety of complaints from a variety of people about his new rules.

"What am I supposed to do if I can't bring in my precious little baby, Fluffy Snugglewumps?" demanded Ms. Guided. "I'll go crazy! Completely and utterly bananas!" She pantomimed a dramatic faint, knocking the namecard off Mr. Krupp's desk in the process.

"No snapping?! But that's a key component of our Fall musical routine! It was a capella, and it was going to be beautiful," lamented Mr. Rustworthy, the school's music teacher.

Melvin, no doubt, would have had his own thoughts about whether or not reality-altering machines should be allowed on school property as educational tools, but he was keeping his head down after the paper airplane incident.

This was to say nothing of the many angry calls passed onto him by Ms. Anthrope, who had quite honestly had enough of this nonsense. She wasn't quite sure what was going on with Mr. Krupp, but she knew she didn't like it.

Mr. Krupp, though, stood his ground. If he had to be miserable and angry, so did the children. Life was tough, and they needed to get over it.

And, at the very least, however much the rest of his life was falling apart, he could always control everything in his school. That much was undeniable.

...With two exceptions, of course, but he was doing his absolute best not to think about them.

It took about 36 hours of what she’d labeled ‘Mr. Krupp’s Tantrum’ before Ms. Anthrope begrudgingly consulted the lunch lady. She was one of the few people who actually seemed to, somehow, enjoy his company. Ms. Anthrope could hardly believe she was a real human being.

As she walked into the cafeteria, Edith startled. “I didn’t know about the mice, I swear! I thought they were food, I promise!”

“What? No,” Ms. Anthrope replied. “I don’t care about that.” Mentally, she sighed in relief at the fact that she always brought a single yogurt cup for lunch.

“Ah.” Edith tucked her hair behind her ear, a motion made awkward by her heavy gloves. “Well, then. Why, are you here?” she asked uncertainly.

“So glad you asked. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to, so I’ll cut straight to the point.”

“So that sentence was unnecessary, then,” Edith clarified.

“What?” Ms. Anthrope said again.

“So you could have just, told me what you wanted, instead of telling me you were going to tell me what you wanted, wasting a bunch of time.”

“Okay, whatever,” Ms. Anthrope snapped. “Listen, just go talk to Mr. Krupp. He’s gone crazy. Punishing the kids is one thing, and I support that. Just not the teachers, too.”

“Aw, well, isn’t there someone else who can do it?”

“I’ve tried, but he won’t listen to me. He likes you more than anyone, so that’s why I’m asking.”

“Huh? I don’t know about that...” Edith blushed and looked away shyly. “Do you really think so?”

“Yeah, sure, honey. Look, just do something about it, okay? I mean, it’s probably not healthy for him, either. Think about it. What could’ve happened to make him ban finger snapping, of all things?”

“I can’t do that, since I don’t have- since I have gloves.” Ms. Anthrope gave her a strange look. “I mean, sure, yeah, I’ll try talking to him,” Edith recovered.

“Great.” Ms. Anthrope left Edith, twisting her gloves nervously, without even saying goodbye. The lunch lady turned back to stirring an ungodly amount of cilantro into a mixture of mayonnaise and ketchup.

“Well, he’s been weird for days now," she said to herself. "This species considers that a long time, I think? Humans. This species, called humans. Of which I am one,” she reminded herself, stirring harder.

“But... ah, jeez, I don’t know,” she muttered. “He’s been, like, bad weird. I wonder if humans experience mood fluctuations every six gryzak cycles, too.”

“You know what, no. I should talk to him.” She dropped her spoon, and it sunk almost completely into the goop she’d been stirring, unheeded. “Come on, Edith, you can do this! It’s like your sisters always said. You’ve gotta be forceful!” She curled her glove into a fist.

“Just walk right up to him and say, ‘You’ve been acting weird and I don’t like it.’ Just like that.” Edith steeled herself and marched right past every classroom on the way to Mr. Krupp’s office. She flung the door open, and Mr. Krupp jolted upright.

“Edith! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He straightened his tie, painfully aware that he’d been paying even less attention to his appearance than usual lately.

“You’ve been acting weird and I like you!” Edith blurted out.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, you have to quit it with all these rules. The kids don't deserve it.” Edith paused. “And, I guess the teachers don't, either.”

Mr. Krupp’s expression grew dark. “Are you telling me how to run my school?”

“What? No!” Edith took a step back, as Mr. Krupp continued undeterred.

“Without rules, there would be chaos. And I won’t accept any more chaos in my life.” Mr. Krupp did not want Edith’s concern. If she was aware of this nonsense, he would positively die of embarrassment.

“Benny, I know you need to keep the school in order, but isn’t this a bit much?” Edith wrung her gloves nervously.

“I’d like to remind you that I am the principal, so I am in charge here, and you have absolutely no authority over my decisions!” He stood, his voice rose in pitch until he was nearly yelling. Edith took a few more steps back, covering her mouth.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing lunch for those brats?” he spat.

Edith was nigh impossible to make angry, but that did it. “You’re acting- you’re behaving- stupid!” she snapped. “Don’t do that!”

Shock, then remorse hit him like a tidal wave as soon as she slammed the door. Mr. Krupp slouched back into his seat, head in his hands.

He really wasn’t handling this situation well at all, was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book canon and movie canon are both very good, so I'm just picking the parts I like.  
> I'm trying to make my chapters bigger...I think this one is slightly longer? Let me know if it's getting draggy or anything.
> 
> I mean, I do what I want, but I also read all your comments, so. I'll keep anything you point out in mind.  
> Speaking of comments....hint hint wink wink nudge nudge.


	6. Chapter 6

Trying aggressively to avoid finger snapping was turning Mr. Krupp into a nervous wreck. He'd even yelled at Edith, of all people - just one more thing to add to the growing list of things he wasn't letting himself think about.

He did his absolute best to go straight home after work, with no detours whatsoever, for fear of hearing someone snap their fingers. It was such a simple action, and so common. It would only take one person, one mistake, and then... well.

And pouring water on his head? Of all the things, that was the one to snap him out of it? It was completely inconvenient, uncomfortable, and logistically unlikely, to say the least.

Mr. Krupp entered his house, slamming the front door closed even harder than he usually did. Despite being an impressively bad-tempered person, he could not remember being more angry. Angry at himself, first of all, for a variety of reasons, but also at everyone else. Angry at anyone who had ever snapped their fingers, angry at anyone working in or attending Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School, but most of all, Mr. Krupp was angry at George and Harold.

They would absolutely be punished for this. For the time being, though, he had more pressing concerns.

He was going to deal with - argh, this was stupid, he thought, shaking his head.

He would have to learn to accept that - yeah, like that was ever going to happen. He groaned.

Mr. Krupp was going to have to come to terms with the fact that he was Captain Underpants. He could hardly make himself finish that sentence.

Or, at the very least, he would have to learn to control it better. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before he had to buy groceries and passed a mom snapping her fingers at her kids, or someone had a breakthrough realization right next to him, or some other bizarre twist of fate that made him hear a snap, turn into Captain Underpants, and...

...Ugh. Thinking about it made him queasy, and what must have already happened was bad enough.

So, what was the best thing to do here? Setting aside his anger as best he could, ignoring the inherently ridiculous nature of this whole situation, what could he do about it? Mr. Krupp paced circles in his living room for at least a full twenty minutes before he reached an answer to that question.

Now, he'd never put all his effort into being good at something, since there had never really been anything important enough to him to warrant it. But if he was going to stay sane, he was going to have to get a handle on this whole transformation thing. And the only way he could think to do it, was practice.

"Practice makes perfect", as his mother always said. He needed to get over it, as his father always said. Still, he couldn't let...what was the term? his alter ego? His double?

He couldn't let Captain Underpants run around acting ridiculous, was the point.

Mr. Krupp could turn himself into Captain Underpants whenever he wanted just by snapping his fingers; it was turning back that was the problem. Ideally, he would have someone to throw water on him whenever he switched, and then he could work on it as much as he liked.

Unfortunately, Edith was still furious with him - as she had every right to be, he berated himself. Even if she wasn't, this was a problem he should be able to figure out himself.

Somehow.

It took a good deal more pacing, but Mr. Krupp formulated a plan.

He filled a cup with water and set it on the nightstand in his bedroom, before grabbing a piece of paper and a cheaply made pen. Mr. Krupp locked the door and looked around the room for a hiding place where he could stash the key. His sparse room afforded practically zero places, so he settled on stuffing it into the bottom of a tissue box.

Now that he had gotten this far, Mr. Krupp didn't know what to write. Something ending with 'pour this water on your head,' of course, but it would need to be strongly worded enough to break the hypnosis. Maybe something like...

After he finished writing, Mr. Krupp set the pen and paper in his lap. Only one thing to do now, he supposed. He braced himself, held his breath, and snapped.

Captain Underpants let out the breath he had been holding for some reason. He realized he was in an unfamiliar environment and jumped to his feet, disrupting a sheet of paper and a pen, which fell to the floor a distance away.

He was wearing the same ridiculous, stifling clothes he always was after blacking out. It was annoying, but normal, and a mere trifle compared to the indomitable will of a superhero! Rather than disrobe immediately, though, he prioritized picking up the paper and reading it. Maybe his sidekicks had left a note!

The first line read "DO NOT DISROBE" in meticulously handwritten capital letters. Well, that ruled out his sidekicks. There was no way they would ask him to do something so ridiculous, at least without a good reason. In fact, that was a level of evil he would only expect from - dare he say - a supervillain!

But, no. He'd learned by now that people around here had funny ideas about little things they called "public indecency", or "property damage", or "kidnapping". Jumping to conclusions wasn't befitting of a warrior of justice. The next few lines only supported his hunch, though.

"You are Mr. Krupp, elementary school principal, not a crime-fighting superhero. Stop jumping out of windows, running around in your underwear, and trying to stop robberies. You're a disgrace. If you haven't snapped out of it by the time you read this, pour the cup of water on the nightstand on your head."

Captain Underpants scratched his head in bewilderment. Clearly, this was a very inept attempt at brainwashing. Like he would ever stop fighting crime, let alone trade it for the boring life of a grouchy old principal, of all things! That was just his secret identity, after all. It wasn't real, or anything.

Still, it might be best to play along, for now. The villain had cleverly stolen his cape, and of course, he couldn't do anything without it. A superhero without a cape was an absolute embarrassment. His sidekicks were also nowhere to be found, so they might even be captives of whoever wrote this note! Just thinking about his sidekicks being pushed around by some evildoer, who was probably making their lives miserable, was enough to make his blood boil.

He wasn't going to just sit here and be a prisoner, though! He stripped down to his underwear despite the note, then hunted down the fallen pen to write a reply.

"NO. Also your stupid and bad at breinwashing." There. An eloquent and scathing comeback, befitting of the Waistband Warrior!

It took Captain Underpants about half an hour of moping around, doodling on the note, and exploring the room (which was depressingly barren, had no windows, and the door was locked) before he was completely, mind-numbingly bored.

The super-villain was probably waiting for him to splash that water on his face, he realized. Once he did, they would show up and he could deliver sweet, cottony justice via a swift punch to the face. That was the only reasonable conclusion.

After another moment of deliberation, Captain Underpants grabbed the cup and upended it over his head.

Mr. Krupp was wet and once again wearing only his underwear, but he wasn't in the middle of a jewel heist or something, so that was progress. Good enough for today. He stood, picking up the note and pen. The cup was already in his hand, though he don't remember picking it up.

His eyes glanced over the piece of paper, which, upon further inspection, was covered in childish doodles of what appeared to be Captain Underpants himself fighting various, poorly-drawn enemies. There were also a few words scrawled under what he'd written.

Mr. Krupp scanned it, lip curling in disgust. The "NO" took up a quarter of the page, and two of the A's were backwards.

Up until this point, he was denying to himself the full magnitude of the situation, but this reply had clearly been written by a totally different person. He was starting to think there was going to be no "snapping out of it" this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, I am tired! 4th July is one of my retail job's busiest holidays, so I might not be able to update again until that's over with.  
> Not an extremely exciting chapter this time, sorry! Still fun to write, of course. And more CU is always delightful.
> 
> As usual, comments are highly appreciated, and rewarded handsomely with digital Internet points.


	7. Chapter 7

If Mr. Krupp's mood improved the next day, it wasn't enough for anybody to notice. He did his best to stick to the same old routine: bran muffin for breakfast, not thinking about underwear-clad superheros that inhabited his brain, yelling at the crossing guard, that sort of thing.

In this case, though, "did his best" means "absolutely failed". Mr. Krupp missed breakfast, Captain Underpants was all he could think about, and he was even too preoccupied to yell at anyone.

He passed Ms. Anthrope silently, still doing his best to come to terms with his situation. Once he was finally safely seated in his office, though, he was soon jolted from his reverie by his desk phone's cacophonous ringing.

"Ms. Anthrope! I thought you were supposed to handle my calls today!" he shouted. The last thing he needed was a heated discussion with some parent up in arms over their dumb, snot-nosed kids crying over not being allowed to break their necks on the playground.

"They asked to talk to you specifically," she yelled back. "And also, I don't give two hoots about your bad decisions bub," she added, muttering under her breath.

Mr. Krupp sighed loudly and answered the phone. "Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School. Mr. Krupp speaking," he droned.

"Good morning, Mr. Krupp," came a crisp reply. "This is Ms. Annett, and I'm calling to follow up on my visit earlier this week."

Something about her tone made Mr. Krupp sit up straight despite his muddied mental climate. "Ah. Yes, of course. I'm sorry I couldn't show you around myself, I was very ill. I'm sure everything went well in my absence."

"It didn't. Not by any stretch of the imagination," she replied abruptly.

"Oh." Truth be told, Mr. Krupp had forgotten entirely that Ms. Annett even existed. He'd passed that responsibility onto Ms. Anthrope, and then... well, he had a lot on his plate right now.

"However, my visit was certainly quite illuminating," she continued. "As you know, the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children prides itself on taking in students that the public school system just cannot accommodate. Through one-on-one tutoring and other methods, we help children adapt to their environment." Her last sentence was delivered too fluidly, like a pitch she'd recited too many times to count.

Mr. Krupp, though, hadn't known this at all. "Of course," he replied.

"And that means troublemakers just as much as gifted students - it's very important to us that we make school work for every child. Which brings me back to my visit." Ms. Annett shuffled some papers. "There are three children who I'd like to enroll at our facility. Their names are Melvin, Harold, and George, and I believe they're all in the same class."

"Hold on just a moment," said Mr. Krupp. "Are you saying you want to move George and Harold to your school?"

"If they prove to be a good fit for our program, yes."

"And it's far away?" he asked, almost giddy with excitement.

"It's a boarding school, Benjamin," she replied, annoyance creeping into her voice.

An evil grin spread across Mr. Krupp's face, his mind already racing with thoughts of what life would be like without Harold and George. "Absolutely. Of course. I think it'd be good for them." And very good for him, too.

"Lovely. I don't think I'll have much trouble convincing their parents, considering my institution's illustrious reputation. However, I do need to give them a test to assess whether or not their academic needs are really unique enough to justify it. Could you excuse them from class for four hours next Thursday?"

Normally, Mr. Krupp would never in his wildest dreams consider excusing George and Harold from class. This was a special circumstance, though, and with Melvin, they'd hardly be unattended. "I can arrange for that."

"Excellent. And, Mr. Krupp, just for the record..." Ms. Annett paused, apparently choosing her next words carefully. "I'm sure these particular students are quite a handful for you and your facility to deal with. Keeping that in mind, I think it would be worth your while to help this process along however you can. There's no reason you need to suffer through dealing with problematic children when they're quite literally our specialty."

Mr. Krupp heard a chair creak, as if she was leaning back. "Transfer these students to Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children, and all your problems with them are gone in a snap."

She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "I'll be in touch."

Captain Underpants had no idea who the lady on the phone was, but she seemed nice enough. "Of course, citizen!" he boomed. "Simply call for me if you're ever in distress, and I'll be there faster than a speeding waistband! Now if you'll excuse me, crime never stops to have leisurely chats on the phone, so neither can I. Tra-la-laa!" He hung up.

On the other end of the line, Ms. Annett listened to her phone's dial tone, staring straight ahead in bewilderment. She mentally examined the man's parting words for a bit, before coming to a sudden realization and turning to type something into her laptop.

The cursory search for Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School she'd done a few days prior had yielded very few relevant results. Shockingly, a mediocre public school in the middle of nowhere didn't generate much publicity.

Ms. Annett was nothing if not thorough, however. She'd found, on the third page of Google, a somewhat interesting article from a local news source. Pulling the page up from her browser history, she scanned it for relevant information.

Mass calamity, giant toilet robot, etc, a 3.0 on the Richter scale... scientist gone mad, kidnapping, endangerment, blah blah blah... Ah. Here.

"Witnesses claim that a large, bald man was seen flying through the air, 'beating the crap out of' the offending giant robot. He was also reported to shout witty banter, interspersed with 'Tra-la-la!' This was dismissed as an incident of mass hysteria, since, of course, our incredibly competent police force were the ones who saved the day in the end."

Ms. Annett raised an eyebrow. Interesting, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're back! Thanks for sticking with me through that brief hiatus, lovely readers.  
> The holiday went okay, I just needed a bit to recover. So many hours at work, so many chemical reactions, ack...!
> 
> Despite my brief absence, I'm still completely and utterly dependent on the approval of strangers, so...well, by now you get the gist. Comments give me life, etc etc. Stay golden.


	8. Chapter 8

Captain Underpants knew he should probably be a little concerned about not remembering how he got back to the school, but right now he was more concerned with checking up on his sidekicks. When something strange happened, they were usually involved, and that note he'd found was indeed very strange! At least this time he'd woken up in a place with a suitable cape.

After he undressed, it only took yelling “Sidekicks?” into four rooms (one of which turned out to be a broom closet, and another a bathroom) before the bell rang, and students poured from every classroom in a flood. He looked around frantically, trying to spot one of his sidekicks, but Harold noticed the underwear-clad superhero first. He pushed a short distance through the crowd to reach George, and the two of them made their way to the Waistband Warrior.

“This way!” shouted Harold.

“What?” said Captain Underpants, standing stock-still as kids moved around him like water, their chatter drowning out any other noise.

“Just follow us,” George yelled, pulling on Captain Underpants’ cape. The two managed to lead him into the principal’s office and shut the door, attracting surprisingly few stares from the bored and exhausted student body in the process.

“Sidekicks! I’m so glad to see you’re okay," gushed Captain Underpants, pulling George and Harold into a near-bone-crushing hug. "I received a rather troubling note lately - the person who wrote it was really insistent I was actually an elementary school principal! As if I’d ever believe that for even a second. Their handwriting was awful, too.”

“Um. Geez, I really don't know how to say this, but... you actually are a principal,” George told him, straining slightly against the hug.

“Ridiculous!" Captain Underpants dropped them both unceremoniously. "I am the Waistband Warrior, defender of everything pre-shrunk and cottony, capable of--”

“Leaping tall buildings, et cetera, we get it,” George finished.

“It’s sort of complicated,” Harold added.

“See, you’re kiiinda under hypnosis-”

“To think I’m actually a mean, rotten old principal, of course!” Captain Underpants interrupted, pounding his fist into his palm. “I get it. But that’s horrible! What sort of depraved, foolhardy person would hypnotize someone to behave completely counter to their personality? It’s positively dastardly. No one has the right to that much power!” Captain Underpants paused. “Uh, sidekicks? Are you feeling alright? You look a bit ill.”

“We’re okay, it's nothing,” replied Harold, wringing his hands.

George shook his head. “The point is, Mr. Krupp isn’t just your secret identity. He’re more like your alter ego, really,” he said, trying to keep the conversation on track. “He’s mean, and grouchy.”

“And he hates fun,” Harold added.

“Totally hates every kind of fun,” agreed George. "And also kids, just in general. He tries to ruin our pranks every chance he gets."

Concern flashed across Captain Underpants' face. “Is this the adult making your lives miserable you were telling me about earlier? I would beat up vampire aliens for you, sidekicks! On the moon, if you needed me to! You could’ve just let me- oh. I see the problem. I can’t exactly beat myself up. Hm."

“Yeah,” Harold said sadly.

“And I think we’d get in trouble for siccing a superhero on our principal, too. Not like we don't want to, though."

“Very practical of you. But, sidekicks, now that I know, I can’t just let you suffer like this.” Captain Underpants put a finger to his chin, thinking hard. “Aha!” He thrust his finger into the air. “That’s it!”

“What?” Harold asked.

“I wrote a reply on the note the evil principal left me. I see no reason not to tell him to stop being so mean to you in the same fashion!” He seemed happy with his idea for just a moment before his face fell. “If only there was some easy, convenient way to bring out my alter ego.”

“You switch back when you get water on your head,” George explained.

“Oh! Well, that’s not hard. Explains why I’ve never experienced that Earth phenomena called ‘rain’, too.”

“And he turns into you when he hears someone snap their fingers,” said Harold. “Like this.” He snapped his fingers, to no effect. “Mr. Krupp made a whole rule banning it on school grounds, too.”

“Alright, then it’s settled.” Captain Underpants clapped his hands together, looking quite proud of himself. “I’ll just use my wit and charm to leave a highly persuasive note, and splash myself with water. We’ll need to work something out about not staying a boring old principal when crime is afoot, too...”

“Wow, you are taking this a lot better than Mr. Krupp did,” George remarked.

“It takes an awful lot to dishearten a superhero.” Captain Underpants puffed out his chest. “If one note doesn’t do it, I’ll just leave another! And another! That mean old principal won’t be a problem for you much longer, mark my words!” With that, he grabbed a highlighter and a notepad off Mr. Krupp's desk and started to write, focusing intently.

George and Harold stood around for about ten seconds before Harold spoke. “Shouldn’t we get going? We’ll be late to our next class at this rate...”

“Is it safe to leave him here unattended?” George asked.

“I mean, he’s gotten into way more dangerous situations than sitting alone in Mr. Krupp’s office.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Harold conceded.

George addressed Captain Underpants. “Hey, make sure to splash water on your face when you’re done writing that.” The waistband warrior gave him a thumbs up, not even looking away from the paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna take a moment here to mention my tumblr, over at https://vizivoir.tumblr.com/ . It's mostly a garbage heap, but you might enjoy it. It's a fun garbage heap, after all!
> 
> Also thanks to Kyoo for their lovely comments on practically every chapter I post - and of course, everyone else who's left a comment as well. You're the reason I've made it this far, thank you so much for your feedback!


	9. Chapter 9

The weekend, normally, was Mr. Krupp's safe haven: a few days when he didn't have to go to school, or sign anything, or so much as look at Harold and George. This weekend, though, was not relaxing in the slightest. In fact, Mr. Krupp would describe it as nothing short of excruciating.

The note Captain Underpants had written him had been the first sign. Note might be the wrong word, actually - it was more like eleven pages of rambling garbage. In it, Captain Underpants insisted, among other ridiculous things, that Mr. Krupp stop being such a "sour cat". He was addressed as "evil principle" in several places, too, which was a nice touch.

Well, at least it was progress from earlier. This time the caped idiot seemed to have a basic grasp on who Mr. Krupp was, for one thing.

By the time he got home to write a reply, it was pouring rain outside, which was good, considering the circumstances. At the very least, his alter ego couldn’t go waltzing around outside looking for trouble and embarrassing situations to get himself into.  
Mr. Krupp wasn't going to take the time to explain why he wasn't going to get Captain Underpants ten bags of marshmallows, let him fight crime whenever he wanted, or behave nicely towards those miscreants he claimed were his sidekicks. Still, he could try being a bit more civil. Captain Underpants seemed to have the mind of a kid, after all, so treating him like one might help.

Of course, the only way Mr. Krupp knew to treat kids was harsh, angry, and condescending.

Needless to say, Captain Underpants didn't react well to a letter amounting to little more than 'stop bothering me and do what I tell you to'. In fact, he reacted so poorly that his reply was just six words: “your dumb. Gone to fight crime.”

Mr. Krupp knew that his attempt didn't work when he was suddenly standing in the rain in his underwear.

Immediately, he started yelling. "I can't believe that ridiculous, stupid, half-naked, indecent-" Mr. Krupp noticed one of his neighbor’s children staring at him from their living room window, and retreated back inside as fast as he could without finishing his sentence.

He dried himself off, got dressed, and chose his next words very carefully. After considerable deliberation, he realized it wasn't worth antagonizing his alter ego with demands anymore.

His next note was written meticulously in black pen on a white sheet of printer paper. It read, quite simply, "What would it take for you to stop running off to 'fight crime' and let me do my job?"

When he came to, sopping wet as usual, he was greeted by a flurry of post-it notes heaped up on the table. Digging through them, he found the original piece of paper, which had been covered entirely in Captain Underpants' demands. Mr. Krupp looked at his clock, and saw that more than an hour had passed.

Captain Underpants' handwriting was comically large, as usual, so he'd only managed four or five sentences on the first paper. Written in tiny, cramped letters near the bottom was "Ran out of paper. Its OK, I found more!"

Mr. Krupp sifted through the pile of post-its. As usual, they seemed to follow no pattern or logic whatsoever: they included things like "find some laser dolphins for poofy sidekick", "snap your fingers if you see a criminal", and "make the soup store sell superhero capes". There were some he couldn't even read, let alone comprehend.

After shoving the pile away to clear some space on the table, Mr. Krupp wrote his next reply on a clean piece of paper. "I can't read all this. Pick three." Honestly, he wasn't even enthusiastic about agreeing to that many of the caped crazy's requests, but he figured it was a good starting point. Mr. Krupp refilled the glass of water, hoping not to get completely drenched this time, put away the post-it notes, and snapped his fingers.

He came to a good while later, the paper once again covered in the superhero's scribbles. They read as follows:

"1. DONT be mean to my sidekicks!!! They are very good  
2\. Always be ready too let me fight crime. I need a cape here too. Supervillain = Snap!  
3\. Make you're writing less bad. It hurts my eyes becus it is boring and close together! Get a crayon"

Mr. Krupp snorted at the last one. Without thinking, he immediately wrote, "How's this? Better?" in the most exaggerated, spaced out letters he possibly could.

"I'm "mean" to George and Harold because they break the rules,” he wrote. “And they're annoying, and disruptive. I can put one of my office curtains in my house, I guess. But I won't snap my fingers to let you fight people, unless you promise to pour water on your head whenever someone snaps their fingers and there's nothing bad happening." Writing with spaced out letters was hard, and it took too long, so Mr. Krupp gave up after the first sentence.

"You drive a hard bargen, evil principle. OK!" There were dramatic jagged lines circling the word "ok", like some kind of old cartoon effect.

"Stop calling me that. My name is Mr. Krupp," read his next note.

"OK, evil Mr. Krupp"

"No, just, drop the evil part."

"OK! Villanous Mr. Krupp it is!"

"That isn't even spelled correctly. No adjectives. Just Mr. Krupp. It is not that hard."

"Dont be a stick in the mud, Mr. Evil Principal Krupp! Nicknames are fun! Also, whats an adjecterve?"

"Trying to communicate with you has got to be the single most infuriating thing I have ever attempted to do in my entire life. It's like your sole intent and purpose is to make my life a living nightmare. You're succeeding, alright? You're stupid and I want you to leave and you're doing very well at-" Mr. Krupp had been writing so hard that he ripped the paper.

He crumpled up that one and threw it in the garbage.  
“An adjective is a word used for description. It’s not important.” Mr. Krupp didn’t even bother snapping his fingers after writing that. He just scooped all of the post-it notes into a trash can, sat back down at the table, rested his head in his hands, and groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's Vizi. Updates are kinda slow because of Life Reasons, but I'm still doing my best to provide that good good CU-Krupp interaction. I think I'll stick with quotes instead of italics for the notes, just for readability purposes.  
> Don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe! Buh bye!


	10. Chapter 10

Since the issue of Captain Underpants was proving impossible to untangle, Mr. Krupp turned his attention to a slightly thornier topic: Edith.

He would have to make up with her, somehow. Human interaction wasn't his forte by a long shot - his main strategy was usually just shouting until the problem went away, which was probably why he found people so hard to deal with. Edith wasn't the problem here, though, and due to physical limitations, he couldn't shout at Captain Underpants himself.

No, who was he kidding, Mr. Krupp himself was the problem. Captain Underpants was infuriating, and it was very hard to negotiate with him, but it wasn't impossible. He shouldn't have overreacted, shouldn't have blown up at Edith like that. She was right. He was acting stupid.

To be fair, there was a superhero inhabiting his body, so maybe he was allowed a bit of stupidity.

But Edith didn't know that, so... what now? Flowers? It'd be a nice gesture, as far as he knew, but she didn't really have anywhere to put them during work. Did she have allergies to flowers? She was allergic to cherries, but that probably wasn't related. Mr. Krupp ultimately decided against it. If she didn't hate him yet, she wouldn't hate him because he did or didn't get her flowers.

But that was a pretty big "if".

He was quickly approaching the sickening realization that he would have to tell her the truth. Edith was the only person in that building who happened to tolerate his company, and now he would have to tell her he was also some kind of underpants-wearing freak of nature.

Well, it was better than letting her stay upset, in any case.

Edith had, in fact, had a pretty terrible weekend. Her anger shriveled up and died within hours of slamming Mr. Krupp's office door, and she spent most of her free time walking around town taking notes to distract her from her concern for him.

She knew it wasn't working when she found a doodle of Mr. Krupp's face between the bullet points "dogs are not food animals" (circled three times) and "why the sky is blue is a secret".

Edith sat on a nearby bench, set down her notebook next to her, and hid her face in her hands. People were so hard to deal with! It wasn't like with her sisters, where they'd just boss her around, and she didn't have to think of how to reply or anything. Earth people didn't even have a solid social hierarchy - which was good in some ways, since they weren't allowed to eat anyone below them, but it was certainly confusing.

What kind of relative social standing was she on with Mr. Krupp? She opened her notebook to a fresh page and began writing in strange, triangular symbols, interspersed with doodles made clumsy by her ever-present gloves.

Human romance, she thought, heat rising to her face. That was their current social relation. It was so incredibly non-violent, too. There was no squirting hot sauce into each other's eyes, or trading wild slaughter beasts, or anything remotely lethal. It was less like a test, or a battle, and more like...

More like a...

She scribbled at the top of the page, "TO DO: Find dictionary word for describing Romance Emotion."

She flipped her notebook closed decisively, standing up. If she was quick, she'd still have time to taste some of the clothes at the boutique a few kerrings away. Three blocks away, she reminded herself, starting to walk towards it. They didn't use organizational kerrings on Earth.

People were weird about their clothes, too. Edith had no idea why there were special rooms in department stores for licking the clothes - and of course they had to be tasting them, or else why would they be so brightly colored?

No kerrings, clothes in food-grade shades of hot pink and neon green, strange romance-oriented feelings. It was no wonder she had so much difficulty communicating with humans, she decided, shying away from the confused stares of passerby.

Humans including, of course, Mr. Krupp. Edith didn't know what had him acting this way, and she didn't know how to find out. She really hoped he'd get over it soon, though. He was the only person, human or her own species, who seemed to tolerate her company.

Monday's sky was steel-grey, clouds blanketing the horizon as far as the eye could see. It was a fitting backdrop for Mr. Krupp's mood as he entered the school cafeteria, flowerless, to speak to Edith.

She looked up as he walked in, leaving a ladle sticking straight out of a pot that could be containing anything from coagulated tomato sauce to mashed potatoes salty enough to kill slugs. "Hi," was all she managed to say.

Mr. Krupp adjusted his tie nervously and launched into his rehearsed monologue. "Edith, I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have lashed out like that. The thing is..." He trailed off, as Edith watched him make nervous hand gestures.

"I've recently - well, that is to say." He coughed. "I've been on edge lately because I... found out that I turn into Captain Underpants when someone snaps their fingers," he articulated carefully, voice squeakily rising in pitch towards the end of his sentence. He finished by attempting an apologetic smile that could've easily been mistaken for a wince.

"Oh! Did George and Harold tell you?" Edith asked.

"Yeah, about a week ago. It's terrible, because-- wait. Did you already know?" He stared at her incredulously.

"Well, yeah. I'm good at noticing things, and, I mean." She re-tucked her hair behind her ear. "I care about you, and what you do, and I think that I'm going to end this sentence now," she finished abruptly.

"Why didn't - why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to be the one to explain it to you. You'd probably get really mad."

Mr. Krupp opened his mouth to deny it, but shut it again without saying anything. She was probably right. The fact that Edith wouldn't tell him something this important, though, sat very badly with him. His eyes widened suddenly, as he realized something.

"Edith, are you... scared of me?"

"Well, that is to say, um." She avoided eye contact, seeming to hide under the veil of her hair. "I- I'm scared of everyone, kind of. It's nothing."

"That doesn't make any se-" Mr. Krupp stopped himself, noticing his tone was far more confrontational than he meant it to be. He rubbed at his temples and sighed deeply. "Edith, I don't want you to be scared of me. I know I get angry sometimes, and I'm sorry. I'll try to be better about that."

"Alright. I forgive you. After all, the whole alter ego thing must have been really stressful, huh?" She smiled, and Mr. Krupp's heart jumped a little.

That smile faded almost immediately, though. "It's just that, I see you being so mean to the students, and making all those rules, and I just don't want you to act like that to me," she said quietly, hands clasped behind her back and shoulders slumped.

Shoot, she had him there. Except, acting mean towards the students was different. Someone had to show them they couldn't just run around acting silly their whole lives.

"The new rules are too harsh, you're right. I'll fix that. But I'm tough with the students for a good reason. They need to learn discipline and maturity. It's why they're in school in the first place."

Only Edith noticed the bitter edge to his words. "Mmkay," she replied.

Mr. Krupp took a deep breath before speaking. "Let me make it up to you. Do you want to go to dinner tomorrow? That Italian place you like, at seven, if you're available." Edith was rarely not available, in fact, she seemed to somehow have less going on in her life than Mr. Krupp himself.

"Sure! Yeah. Yeah, alright." Her smile lasted a lot longer this time, and Mr. Krupp's face split into a slightly goofy grin without his noticing.

"Okay, I'll see you then. Good luck with lunch." He would've probably berated himself about how inane that last sentence sounded, but he was a bit too overwhelmed with relief for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how fun Edith is to write?


	11. Chapter 11

Mr. Krupp was on top of the world.

Between George and Harold being sent away soon, the peace and quiet them being stuck in a room for five hours would provide him, and Edith - just, everything with Edith - not even Captain Underpants himself could ruin his mood.

When Ms. Annett showed up at the school, stacks of papers tucked neatly in her arm, Mr. Krupp greeted her himself this time. She met his half-suppressed grin with a tight nod.

He led her towards the detention room, which had just been the most convenient to set up for testing. Mr. Krupp wasn't able to resist attempting small talk. "Nice day out, huh?"

"Hm? Ah, yes, certainly. There is weather." Ms. Annett was torn between examining Mr. Krupp and staring straight ahead as they walked down the hallway, still trying to make sense of his earlier behavior.

"The sunshine is just very bright, and it's not too hot, or too cold. And - oh, look, we're here."

Inside the room, Harold was bouncing his leg repeatedly while George adjusted his tie. They were whispering nervously to each other, as Melvin shot them an annoyed glance from the front row. Surprise tests were, understandably, neither George nor Harold's favorite thing in the world. To Melvin, however, they were better than a snow day.

"Thank you, Benjamin. I can take it from here." Ms. Annett strode into the room confidently, half expecting the principal to protest against leaving his students alone in a room with her.

"Right, of course," he said, leaving the room. Either he was still behaving strangely, or he just didn't care.

She turned to face the students, taking a moment to examine them. The curly-haired boy and the one with a flat top had moved their desks together so they were touching, and were now holding hands while staring at her with varying levels of fear. They were Harold and George, she reminded herself. She'd have to remember that now.

The other student, Melvin, had elected to sit as close to the teacher's desk as he physically could. The confident smile he'd been sporting had vanished as soon as he saw her - the poor kid probably thought he was still in trouble, she realized. That was almost cute. Maybe she could use it.

Ms. Annett walked behind the desk and set the papers down, making sure they made a heavy thunk sound. The curly haired boy jumped slightly, which was gratifying.

"You three have been selected as candidates for enrollment in the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children. The results of these tests will determine whether or not you get in. No pressure." She smiled thinly, aware it didn't reach her eyes.

"There has to be some mistake," George piped up. "We aren't good at school. I mean, Melvin is, but me and Harold aren't."

"I'm well aware of your academic shortcomings," Ms. Annett replied. "All the better reason to do your best, hm?"

"This will be a three hour exam, with the addition of two fifteen minute breaks," she continued, not giving George time to reply. "Before we begin, though, Melvin. May I have a word with you in the hallway?"

Melvin gulped and nodded, following Ms. Annett out of the room.

“Before we start, I just want you to know that you’re not in trouble for the paper airplane incident,” she began. This was completely true, actually: children were easily excitable, and she wasn’t going to hold it against a student as intelligent as Melvin. His inventions alone proved he was far more worthwhile than the other two.

He sagged with relief at her words. “Oh, good. You know, I only did it because the aerodynamics of all those planes were really off. Making a gliding projectile with materials constraints is really-”

“Yes, yes, fascinating,” she interrupted. “Of course, you must also be under a good deal of stress, going to school at this establishment.”

“You have. No. Idea,” Melvin said. “George and Harold are always doing stupid pranks, and making jokes that aren’t even funny, and don’t even get me started on the cafeteria food.”

“Well, I was referring more to your principal.”

“Mr. Krupp?” Melvin blinked owlishly. “I mean, he’s okay, I guess.”

Ms. Annett tilted her head. “Are you sure you haven’t noticed anything strange going on with him recently?”

“Actually, there is this one thing... it’s crazy, though. You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” Ms. Annett replied, giving him a reassuring look.

“Okay, if you insist,” Melvin said, clearly eager to reveal whatever information he had. “When you snap your fingers around Mr. Krupp, he takes off all his clothes but his underwear and starts acting like this superhero from George and Harold’s comics, Captain Underpants. I’ve even seen him start flying, and, one time, he beat up a giant toilet robot,” he said conspiratorially. “That stopped me from getting extra credit, too, though,” he added, clearly peeved about the whole situation.

“Flying? Do you mean like super powers?” she asked.

“Yeah, just like that. I told you you wouldn’t believe me,” he said, tone growing guarded.

“No, stranger things have happened, I believe you. Is there anything else?” Ms. Annett couldn’t believe how well this was going - this kid must be the biggest tattle-tale in his entire school, if he was willing to tell her this story with such little prodding.

“Oh, right. He doesn’t seem to be able to switch back until he gets wet, and George and Harold are always there, too. Speaking of George and Harold, why are they here too? They aren’t even going to be able to sit still for half an hour, let alone perform well on a three hour test. Unlike me,” he gloated.

“I do have my reasons. If we don’t get back in there, though, we might not finish before school lets out.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Melvin said eagerly, but Ms. Annett guided him back inside nonetheless.

The papers she’d left on the desk were a bit disorganized, as if someone had tried to put them back discreetly and not quite succeeded. From the terrified expressions on George and Harold’s faces, she inferred they had snuck a look at the tests while she and Melvin were out of the room.

If anything, that was only going to psyche them out. Which was exactly what she was going for, Ms. Annett thought to herself. The tests were comprised of a dizzying variety of questions, from Renaissance artists to (admittedly basic) rocket science. About half the questions were actually grade-level appropriate, but she would bet anything the two wouldn’t even get most of those correct.

Melvin, however, was practically glowing with confidence. While she doubted he’d be able to get a perfect score, it’d surely be enough to justify enrollment.

Ms. Annett handed out the tests, not bothering to separate George and Harold's desks - it wouldn't do them any good.

"Your time starts now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! impromptu hiatus, Real Life attacked. But don't worry, valued readers, I'll be finishing this come hell or high water!  
> Longer chapter than I normal - mostly setup, minimal editing. I'm once again very tired.  
> But I think we might be about halfway through, so stuff will start getting Very Real Very Quickly here...! Hopefully!


	12. Chapter 12

Mr. Krupp's good mood lasted through the evening. His date with Edith was, as always, delightful, and when she gave him a bashful kiss on the cheek just before leaving, his heart must've skipped at least a dozen beats.

Then he opened the door to his house, and it all crashed down.

Well, not his house, of course. It was just the same as always: a myriad of greys adorning the walls, an abandoned scratching post lying in a corner, beat-up old furniture. That was the problem, in fact: it was just the same as always. Drab, worn out, unremarkable, and unpleasant. Just like him.

Still standing in the doorway, he felt his shoulders slump as the last of his elation drained from his body. Whatever happened with George and Harold, or Edith, or Captain Underpants, he would still just be the same old foul-tempered, angry, kid-hating Mr. Krupp.

He meant to just give up on today and try to sleep - it wasn't extremely late, but even watching TV seemed like too much effort at the moment - but he found himself walking towards the kitchen in spite of himself. Without thinking, he poured a glass of water, sat down at the table, and wrote.

"Do you think my life is pathetic?"

Mr. Krupp hesitated. Technically, this was talking to himself, right? Was that healthy?

Thinking you were a caped superhero definitely wasn't healthy, so it was probably too late to worry about that. He snapped his fingers.

Captain Underpants jumped out of the chair and was halfway undressed before he noticed the paper. He picked it up and read it, then re-read it several times. His alter ego had left him some very peculiar correspondence lately, but this took the cake.

Still, it showed a willingness to communicate! The fact that the evil principal wanted the Captain to judge his life decisions must mean he trusted him, so it should be easier to convince him to be less evil.

He wrote in his same big, loopy handwriting. "Dear Just Evil Krupp: Yes. You are a principul that no one likes. Kids should like their principul!"

Perfect. It was subtle, convincing, and masterfully crafted piece of argumentative writing, he thought to himself.

Captain Underpants grabbed the glass of water, preparing to switch back. At the last moment, though, he realized his alter ego was probably getting sick of being so wet every time they switched. He dipped his hand in the water, now curious about how much it would take to switch. The Waistband Warrior flicked just a few drops onto his forehead.

Mr. Krupp was still wearing his shirt, he noticed, and he also wasn't drenched. Small blessings, he supposed.

Reading the reply only made him feel worse. Leave it to a bumbling oaf with the mind of an elementary school to be blunt, he supposed.

"Gosh, that's reassuring. Thanks. Really making me feel better."

This was a waste of time, he mused, snapping his fingers.

"I am detecting some sarchasm. My intent was not to be reassuring, but honest! If you dont like how your life is, change it."

"It's not that simple."

"Nonsense! If you want to do something, just do it!"

"Some of us are real adults with actual responsibilities." Something suspiciously resembling "you half-naked nitwit" was scratched out next to the message.

"Sounds like your just making it hard."

Mr. Krupp stared at that one for a minute, elbow propped up on the table with his head resting on his palm. It really was that hard, he was sure of it. These grey walls, his mean disposition, the depressing cereal he ate every morning, all of it was a part of him. It was the identity he'd concocted, and it suited him.

Or, maybe it just built up over time. It was easier to buy the same kind of cereal every week than sort through a dizzying array of colored sugars to find something reasonable. It was easier to tell a kid to keep their chin up and work harder than to learn about their parents' high standards and borderline neglect, only to be flippantly pushed aside when he called them and inevitably blew up over the phone.

"It's really just easier this way."

"Whats easy is not always right. A hero's life is never easy, but I still fight my hardest for truth, justice, and all that is pre-shrunk and cottony!"

Mr. Krupp snorted at that. As if he'd ever want to be like him, a caped maniac who ran around in his underwear and saved people's lives while smiling, who made a difference and never worried about things like paperwork or crushing self-doubt or taxes. A hero.

He snorted even harder. As if the waistband nuisance could actually stop crimes. They shared a body, and Mr. Krupp sure wasn't capable of it.

Still, the terrified criminals, the second story window... He felt sick thinking about it. There were enough things that didn't make sense to deal with right now.

Captain Underpants just wasn't a real hero, and neither was Mr. Krupp, not by a long shot. End of story.

"Keep dreaming, bub," he wrote. Lord knows he'd given up on that a long time ago.

Mr. Krupp didn't snap his fingers. He tapped his pen on the paper, strangely haunted by the large, round letters in front of his eyes.

"Whats easy is not always right." "Sounds like your just making it hard." Childish grammatical errors aside...

He glanced up at the clock - it was getting kind of late. His clock was about half an hour slow at this point, he remembered, so it was even later than that.

These notes didn't get thrown into the recycling pile like the others. He carried them to his home office and set them down on a precarious pile of papers next to his computer. It was about time he got a clock that actually worked. Things that functioned correctly were becoming increasingly rare in his life as it was.

There were over five thousand listings for ‘wall clock’, apparently. Mr. Krupp gave up almost immediately, and was about to select his usual utilitarian choice, when one with a simple umbrella design caught his eye. It was part of a decor set that included a few wall stickers in pleasant shades of blue.

Eh, why not. As long as it worked, that was all that mattered. He ordered it.

The next week settled into a relatively smooth rhythm. Captain Underpants incidents were few and easily taken care of, and the school was blessedly free from any major calamity.  
Mr. Krupp also noticed a spot in his bedroom where a houseplant would fit perfectly. While he was at the store, he also purchased a set of brightly colored paper holders on a whim - strictly for organizational purposes, of course.

During work, he kept up with George and Harold’s pranks, noticing that it wasn’t quite as exhausting as usual. Maybe the threat of being in separate classes was finally starting to wear them down.  
Once, a student ran directly into him in the hallway, their vision obscured by a stack of library books. Rather than snapping “watch where you’re going, bub,” Mr. Krupp attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace, and the poor kid was more scared by this than any reprimand he could’ve dished out, but it was the thought that counted.

That slightly unsteady equilibrium was broken, of course, the day a robot shooting lasers left and right went barreling down the street outside of his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm alive!!  
> I think this is the first chapter I've ended with somewhat of a cliffhanger. That takes self-control.


	13. Chapter 13

The robot was fire truck red. In fact, it appeared to be fashioned from parts stripped off of an actual fire truck, complete with an extendable ladder. There was a man standing on a platform attached to its side, holding onto a railing with one hand and sipping at a mug of something with the other. He was wearing a bathrobe and a fireman’s hat, and seemed extremely blasé about the whole situation. He was even wearing slippers.

Mr. Krupp was able to absorb all of these details, since he had just walked out of his house to head to work, and was now staring directly into the oncoming robot’s path as asphalt crumbled beneath its metal feet.

His shock turned to panic as he realized that this was absolutely, without a doubt, the kind of situation Captain Underpants would want to be present for. But what could a man wearing only his underwear do against this thing? It must be at least two stories tall, and it had lasers, too!

As it got closer, Mr. Krupp could hear the man riding it yell to the fleeing populace. “Howdy, neighbors! Just moved in, loving this place’s aesthetic. Don’t mind me, just heading to work! No need to worry, everyone, my employment isn’t doing crimes!” His words should’ve been barely audible over the crashing and screaming, but for some reason, he could hear them perfectly.

Mr. Krupp went back inside as quickly as he could, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. This had to be just a dream. He would open the door again, and the robot would have turned into a living stack of paperwork, and George and Harold would be there for some reason. He opened the door.

The robot stubbornly refused to vanish. George and Harold were not there.

He rubbed his temples, trying to calm down enough to think. The only sensible thing to do would be to call the police, but they were notoriously incompetent, and it would definitely take a while for them to arrive, and by then-

A gigantic metal foot stomped a crater into his driveway, and Mr. Krupp decided he didn’t feel like doing the sensible thing.

He ran outside and yelled at the man who seemed to be controlling the mechanical monstrosity. “Hey, bub! What do you think you’re doing?”

The robot stopped in its tracks, and Mr. Krupp instantaneously regretted his actions. “Heading to work. You weren’t paying attention, were you,” the man controlling it tutted. “You don’t seem to be running in fear, either, which is unusual,” he observed, as the robot’s giant frame leaned down towards Mr. Krupp.

“Uh... Stop- stop destroying stuff, or else you’re gonna be in big trouble!” Mr. Krupp would’ve hit himself if he wasn’t paralyzed in fear. This was some kind of crazed maniac with a laser robot, not a misbehaving kid!

“Oh, big trouble. Hm. You don’t say. With whom?” The man took a sip of his beverage. “Listen, I’ve gotta get going. Nice chatting with you, except it wasn’t at a-all!” he said, voice turning sing-song towards the end of his sentence. “See you never.” The robot’s arm contorted, extending so its hand was directly in front of Mr. Krupp, index finger tucked into its thumb.

Oh no.

Mr. Krupp snapped his fingers, frantically praying for superpowers, just as the robot’s giant finger flicked him at high speed directly into the wall of his house.

\-----

One block away, a policewoman was sitting in a parked vehicle talking on the phone to her supervisor. “Alright, boss, okay,” she said, exasperation seeping into her voice. “It’s been, like, two weeks. I get the point. If I see anyone in their underwear, I’ll arrest them on the spot. Once again, though, for the record, he did help prevent a robbery.”

She stopped talking for the exact amount of time it takes to listen to an angry rant, rolling her eyes. “Yup. Got it. Crystal clear, boss.”

Suddenly, she listened intently, her spine snapping straight. “What’s that - oh. Just a noise complaint.” She slumped back into her seat. “Yes, yes, I know, it’s an important part of my duty, spare me the lecture. I’ll check it out.” With a sigh, she hung up on the call. “At least it’s close,” she muttered. She left her car, turned the corner, and immediately came face to face with a man stripping down to his underwear.

“What, who-- how? Why?” she stammered.

“I would love to answer all four of those questions, but there are more pressing issues at hand, police human!”

The Captain, still hurriedly undressing, reached up to remove the hairpiece his alter ego insisted on wearing, only to find nothing. The robot that flicked him into a house must have knocked it off. Convenient!

He took a second to survey the damage. Wait - that was the evil principal Krupp’s house, wasn’t it? There was now a superhero-shaped crater just left of the front door, and he could see into the rather depressing kitchen.

A crash resounded as the robot took another step, still moving down the street and sending lasers flying with reckless abandon. Someone should really do something about that.

No, wait. He should do something about that! And he would, if not for one problem. He couldn’t find his cape.

The school his sidekicks attended was way too far to get to, especially without flying, and there was no way he was flying anywhere without his cape. It would absolutely ruin his respectable superhero image.

Captain Underpants looked around frantically, trying to spot a suitable replacement, when an old lady screaming in terror and running from the chaos caught his eye. Her jacket was bright red with black dots. Admittedly, the dots were far larger than what he normally preferred, but desperate times called for desperate measures! As it turns out, old ladies can’t run very fast, so he overtook her with ease.

“Excuse me, frightened citizen! Would you be willing to lend me your jacket, for the purposes of upholding peace, order, and-”

“Take it! Just take it, you- you underwear man!” She shoved the jacket towards him and went back to running away, shouting about the end times.

Captain Underpants tied the makeshift cape around his neck and flew into the air. “Tra-la-la!” he shouted triumphantly.

The man riding the robot gave an exaggerated sigh, and turned his creation around. “Not again. Listen, I’m seriously going to be late for- oh.” He caught sight of Captain Underpants, flying straight for him.

“Hey, what the heck!” the man shouted, just before the superhero delivered a powerful punch to the robot’s leg. Just before the robot toppled over, he jumped off, landing in the perfect spot to watch Captain Underpants dispatch the robot with a few more well-placed punches.

“But I was just trying to get to work...” He dropped his mug and sank to the ground, pulling at his hair, as Captain Underpants flew down with an assortment of sparking robot parts clutched in his hand. “Okay, so my work was crimes, you got me,” he admitted, staring at the ground.

“I heard that,” said the policewoman, who had run over to handcuff him. “And, hey, I only have one pair of handcuffs, but you’re coming with me too! Public indecency!” She pointed angrily at Captain Underpants.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, well-meaning but confused police human. I believe I’m obligated to inform my alter ego about the destruction of his wall. It was certainly not in vain - this poor house’s sacrifice will be remembered for years to come.”

The police woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m not happy about it either, but you really have to- hey! What are you doing?”

Captain Underpants, after considering the hole in Mr. Krupp’s wall, was now uprooting a tree. He dragged it behind him as he entered, waving goodbye to the policewoman as he went. Soon, he was inside the kitchen, and the tree plugged up the hole with its branches.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, dusting off his hands. After writing a quick note on those adorable square adhesive papers, he splashed himself with water from the sink.

Mr. Krupp blinked, taking a moment to reorient himself as he felt bruises forming on every part of his body. A brief check confirmed that, yes, he still had all of his limbs, and nothing was broken, despite a scrape or two. He was in his underwear, too, but he was pretty much expecting that. Jeez, that was a weird thing to get used to. In any case, it was better than being dead.

He felt something scratchy at his neck and realized he was wearing an incredibly tacky jacket with its sleeves tied below his chin. It smelled like old people.

There was also a note - from Captain Underpants, of course - scribbled on a post-it and left next to the sink. “SORRY! Fixed it. Bad guy caught too,” it read, with several smiley faces squished around the letters.

“What,” said Mr. Krupp.

He turned around, coming face to face with a mess of tree branches sticking through his kitchen wall. His wall clock was lying shattered on the floor.

“WHAT,” yelled Mr. Krupp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be my longest chapter yet. Pretty neat personal milestone!  
> Gonna try and get back into the swing of things with daily updates, here. At least every two days. Hiatuses are lame.  
> Comments still give me life!


	14. Chapter 14

After school, George and Harold were called down to Mr. Krupp’s office. Again.

For some reason, Ms. Annett was sitting in his desk with Mr. Krupp standing behind her, hands folded behind his back. His grin was even more forced than usual, and there was a manic glint in his eye that would make lesser kids run away crying. Fortunately, Harold and George were seasoned professionals.

“Is this about the peanut butter?” Harold said in a panic, immediately breaking down. “We didn’t even have anything to do with all the kids getting sick, I swear! That’s just normal school stuff!” George smacked his palm into his own forehead.

“This isn’t about any of those things,” she said with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I’m only here to deliver your score reports and discuss them with your parents.”

“Oh, there’s no need to do that,” said George, relief evident in his voice. “I know neither of us passed, so just give us our scores and we’ll be on our way. No need to waste any more of your time, which I’m sure is extremely valuable.” He laughed nervously.

Ms. Annett fixed him with a calculating stare. “I’ll wait until Melvin arrives to discuss the specifics, but I think you boys are making some unfounded assumptions here.” George and Harold exchanged confused looks.

Melvin walked in, as if summoned by an adult just speaking his name. “Good afternoon Ms. Annett, Mr. Krupp,” he greeted. “And... you,” he added, with a nod to his fellow students. He looked around for a chair briefly, finding none and standing off to the side with perfect posture, head barely poking over the desk.

“Well. Now that we’re all here,” Ms. Annett began, unconcerned by Mr. Krupp looming behind her like a creepy sentinel. “These are the results of your tests. Feel free to look them over.” She handed a stapled pamphlet to each of them.

“Congratulations: all three of you have been approved for admission into the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children.” The smile she offered was almost warm, but just barely missed the mark.

Melvin beamed at her praise, expression only falling slightly when he saw the less-than-perfect score he’d received. It was still 98th percentile, of course, but only because of the history portion. That had never been his strong suit.

“This makes no sense,” said George.

“Yeah,” agreed Harold, looking through his scoring book. “For the essay on... commercial propa-gation of orisa satevia, I just drew a picture of a frog. I mean, it was a really good drawing, but still.”

“Oryza sativa,” Melvin corrected. “It’s a strain of rice genetically modified to contain vitamin A.”

“Beta-carotene, but close enough,” Ms. Annett said. Melvin blushed at the correction, embarrassed. “As I informed your principal, our organization takes in children the public school system just isn’t equipped to provide for. That includes precocious students like Melvin, as well as those... on the opposite end of the spectrum.” Immediately, Melvin was beaming again at her praise.

“I really think going somewhere far away would benefit you boys. And all of us,” Mr. Krupp ground out, breaking his silence and making Harold jump. “Somewhere far. Far away.”

Ms. Annett nodded her agreement. “I’ve contacted your parents, and they’ll be meeting us here to discuss the details of this arrangement. Melvin, I understand your parents couldn’t be with us today.”

“They’re still at the lab right now,” he replied. “I don’t think there are going to be any problems. You can just give the paperwork to me, so I can go over it with them.”

“If you say so.” She handed him a collection of forms and papers. “That first one is a letter with my email address and phone number, should your parents need to get in touch.”

“Thanks.” With a look that George and Harold knew was nerd code for ‘I’m better than you,’ he left the room.

“As I said, your parents should be arriving shortly. Now, which of you would like to go first?” Ms. Annett asked. Neither George nor Harold said anything, or made any motion to leave the room.

“...Hm. I see. Very well, then. We’ll wait for your parents.” She scrutinized both boys for a moment, before taking out a document and starting to highlight it in at least four different colors.

The silence dragged on into minutes. Harold fidgeted with his hands, George clutched his hand around his tie, and Mr. Krupp stared into the distance, teeth gritted. George was pretty sure he was going to be sick, when his mom and dad entered the room and broke the tension.

“Mr. Beard, Mrs. Beard, welcome,” Ms. Annett greeted, without getting up. “You know why you’re here, of course.”

“You must be Ms. Annett,” said George’s dad, stepping forward to shake her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

She returned the gesture. “Charmed.”

“Before we make any decisions, I think we need to talk to George about what he wants. Visit the building, too, and all that,” Ms. Beard added.

“Of course. That can all be arranged,” Ms. Annett replied, giving George no room to chime in.

Just then, Harold’s mom opened the door, his little sister in tow. “Sorry I’m late, Heidi couldn’t find her socks.” The sister in question stared at Ms. Annett unblinkingly.

“Is there any way we could’ve had this conversation somewhere else?” Mr. Beard asked, trying to make room for Harold’s mom. “It’s getting pretty cramped.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting on meeting with all three of you simultaneously.”

“Fair enough.”

“Ms. Annett, thank you so much for this opportunity,” Mrs. Hutchins said. She would never say so to Harold, for fear of putting too much pressure on him, but she really worried about her son. The idea of him spending a year at a school specially designed to meet his needs - especially funded almost entirely by some very generous donors, as Ms. Annett assured her it was - sounded too good to pass up.

“Mom, I don’t know if I really want to go to school there,” Harold said. Mr. Krupp’s posture tensed.

“Honey, you know this place isn’t exactly the best environment for you,” she said, with a covert glance at his principal. “At the very least, isn’t it worth a shot?”

“But, the treehouse-”

“You could visit it on weekends.” Harold mumbled assent, clearly none too convinced. “Thank you again,” she said, smiling at Ms. Annett.

“If he’s going, so am I,” said George, putting his hand on Harold’s arm and looking quite determined.

“George, are you sure?” asked Mrs. Beard. 

“Yep,” he said, resolutely.

“Well, alright, then,” he replied. “We’ll still need to look into some things, of course. I’ll be in touch,” he told Ms. Annett.

The grownups accepted their respective stacks of papers and filed out, George and Harold following with them.

“See, I told you it would work out if you just let me do the talking,” Ms. Annett said, standing up to leave. Mr. Krupp just grunted in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty long, pretty dialogue heavy, but I promise stuff is gonna start Going Down here in a bit! I might even work up a chapter buffer, what a novel idea.


	15. Chapter 15

Two things in Mr. Krupp’s life were taking far too long for his liking: the construction on his house, and George and Harold leaving for their new school.

Every day, he had to get up and see the tarp separating his kitchen from the rest of his house, getting milk for his cereal from the fridge temporarily installed in his living room. It was awful. He always had to sit at his couch, chewing his breakfast mechanically and staring off into space, often accompanied by the sounds of construction from the other room. A less stubborn person would’ve simply rented a hotel room, but Mr. Krupp had convinced himself that the construction workers would just slack off if he wasn’t there to supervise them.

Every day, he had to come to school and deal with George and Harold’s newest pranks, which were becoming increasingly elaborate. They’d also started to require increasingly long phone calls with affected parties such as their parents, high-end confectionaries, and the local clown union. It was awful.

If he thought about it, this was probably the boys’ last huzzah before they went off to wreak havoc on Ms. Annett’s fancy private school.

It was just three weeks, he reminded himself, staring at the glitter littering the gym.

Only ten days, he reassured himself, watching glue drip from the ceiling.

Just two days now, he thought tiredly, listening to a rant from Mr. Meaner.

The last day George and Harold attended Jerome-Horwitz Elementary School was the day construction on his house was finished.

When he walked into work and nothing unpleasant happened, it felt like he’d stepped into some Twilight Zone alternate reality. Even the teachers were in a good mood, which would be shocking in and of itself - so good, in fact, that one of them had brought in a cake. It spelled “GOODBYE GEORGE + HAROLD” in garish red frosting, surrounded by roses and curling icing leaves. Mr. Krupp cut himself a generous slice and ate it in his office, leaning all the way back in his chair.

He exhaled deeply, feeling like a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. The cake icing stained his mouth red, unbeknownst to him, as he snickered over how George and Harold must be feeling at that fancy private school. There would be lots of homework, he’d bet, and so many rules. And best of all: someone other than him had to enforce them.

Rules, hard classes, and lots of homework were definitely what Harold and George were expecting as they looked up at the vaguely gothic facade of the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children. Their parents told them things like “have a good first day”, and “just call us if you need anything”, but they barely paid attention, responding with all the seriousness of a funeral.

Inside the building, they were met by a neatly dressed teacher standing next to a table covered with name tags. “Good morning, boys,” she said, offering them a tired smile. “You can go ahead and leave your bags by the stairs. Just find your name here, and head to the auditorium.”

“There’s an auditorium?” George asked Harold incredulously. He just shrugged.

After picking out their nametags, which were printed in an official-looking font, the teacher waved them towards a sign directing them to the auditorium, and the boys made their way to an imposing pair of doors, before entering.

Another teacher greeted them as soon as they went in. “Greetings, and welcome!” They maintained a somewhat aggressive smile, their gaze flashing to the nametags before they made intense eye contact. “You two are going to want to sit over thereabouts, all the way in the very back row,” they said, pointing towards the back of the room.

“Sounds good to me,” Harold said, walking with George up the aisle to the place pointed out to them.

“Is it just me, or is this place kind of giving you the creeps?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Harold nodded.

“Could just be how much funding they have, though,” suggested George.

“You know, I have to agree. No elementary school should have a room this big. It just isn’t natural.” The auditorium couldn’t have seated more than a hundred people, but Jerome-Horwitz held assemblies in the gym, which had neither air conditioning nor any real seating. Needless to say, it was a major difference.

Sitting down, they couldn’t help but notice the entire room seemed to be divided in two. Towards the back, kids were almost cowering, looking around nervously and talking in murmurs. Towards the front, kids were much more at ease, looking attentively towards the stage and practically beaming. Harold thought he noticed a familiar tuft of orange hair in the first row.

They didn’t have any time to discuss it, however, before the lights dimmed and Ms. Annett strode onstage, wearing a crisply tailored suit and her customary high heels. She stepped up to a podium and adjusted the microphone briefly, before looking out at the students assembled.

“Class of the Stanford D. Ardyze School for Exceptional Children,” she began, voice booming in the closed space. “I’ll make this brief, as I’m sure you’re all very excited to meet the faculty and your fellow students. 

“Our establishment offers a six month program geared towards helping you succeed academically. I’m sure everyone in this room knows how stifling, how limiting the traditional school system can be. We’re here to free you from all that.

“Classes are divided into two groups: advanced, and remedial. You’ll learn more about that tomorrow. I believe you should all know this by now, but just as a brief review: you’ll be staying overnight during the week, and leaving for home on Fridays. Dining hall hours are posted on the announcements board, and every floor has a minimum of one adult to eight students. Room checks are Tuesdays and Thursdays.

“I won’t bore you with any more of the details; just ask any member of the staff if you need help. We don’t bite.” She flashed a toothy smile reminiscent of a creature that bit, and hard.

“If you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed, that’s perfectly natural. In time, this building will surely come to feel like home, and the people in it, like family.

“Now, if you would, please follow the teachers seated at the end of your row in an orderly fashion. They’ll show you to your rooms.”

“I thought she said she was going to keep that brief,” muttered Harold.

For lack of anything better to do, they followed her instructions, walking alongside a group of students that was starting to look a bit more at ease, despite their unfamiliar surroundings. After retrieving their bags and passing a moderately sized library, several lab rooms, and an extensive stretch of cookie-cutter classrooms, the group entered a residential area.

Within minutes, George and Harold were assigned to one of about a dozen identical doors. Inside was a sterile bedroom with a bunk bed, a dresser, a bathroom, and very little else.

“You know, I’m not sure what I expected,” said Harold.

“Yeah, I checked this place out with my mom earlier, and it’s still depressing. Lucky for us, I brought some posters and stuff from the treehouse.” George dropped his bag and began riffling through it, pulling out several brightly colored pieces of paper.

Suddenly, he stopped to look at Harold with an expression of dawning realization. “Oh my gosh. Dude, I just realized something,” George said.

A grin spread across Harold’s face. “Infinite sleepover?”

“Infinite sleepover.” They ran to the beds, George flopping onto the bottom bunk as Harold scrambled onto the top one.

“I know what you’re thinking, so I’m just gonna say it.” George took a deep breath. “There is no way we aren’t pranking the ever loving heck out of this place.” He accentuated his words with excited hand gestures, mind already racing with possibilities.

Harold poked his head over edge of his bunk. “Oh, no question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everything looks like it's going well for everyone.  
> Sorry for that impromptu hiatus, I'm...still swamped. Doin my best, though! Look forward to some real fun chapters coming up soon!!


	16. Chapter 16

The second day without George and Harold was shaping up to be as idyllic as the first, and Mr. Krupp enjoyed a blissful prank-free morning before his day was immediately ruined by some kid snapping their fingers in the hallway.

He woke up in his office, face slightly wet, a poorly spelled note written on the back of an important form resting in front of him. It read, "My sidekicks are missing! Are they home sick today???" with about half a dozen sad faces drawn around it.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a whole thing, wasn't it.

Grabbing a pad of legal paper, Mr. Krupp wrote out a reply. "George and Harold don't go to school here anymore. They've transferred to a private school across town." He sighed and snapped his fingers.

"WHAT??" This one was accompanied by a crude drawing of Captain Underpants yelling.

"You heard me." Mr. Krupp crossed out 'heard', and wrote 'read' above it, before huffing and scribbling it all out. He decided on writing, "I don't know what to tell you, bub."

"My sidekicks are AMEIZING and GREAT kids! I CANT BELIEV you would just send them away!! Who is going to chronikle my exploits now??? Certainly not you! Your writing is terrible!"

Mr. Krupp growled and banged a fist in his desk. Why couldn't Captain Underpants just go away? His life was almost perfect now that Harold and George were gone - aside from the job he hated with coworkers he hated, but that was a given.

Enough coddling. The man put a tree through his kitchen, for goodness sake!

"It wasn't my decision. Even if it was, I would've wanted them out anyway. They're disruptive and disrespectful, and if they don't shape up, they'll wind up getting absolutely nowhere in life. The only reason you can't see that is because you're an underpants-wearing freak." By this point, he was writing so hard the pen left a visible imprint in the legal pad.

There. Maybe that would shut him up.

Mr. Krupp snapped his fingers.

Captain Underpants read over the note frowning, his expression growing more intense as he reached the end. And here he'd thought Mr. Evil Principal Just Krupp had been learning to act nicer.

Well, even superheroes can be wrong sometimes. At the very least, he could ask the students where his sidekicks had gone, since his alter ego seemed determined to act like a giant buttface.

Still dressed in his principal guise, he walked down the hall to the cafeteria, the hub of all elementary school gossip, and approached a cluster of students.

"Good morning, students! Would any of you happen to have the time to talk about George and Harold?" He made an attempt to lean nonchalantly on the table, nearly putting his hand into a cowering girl's lunch.

The kids stared at each other in shock, before one particularly brave boy spoke. "George and Harold? Yeah, they're gone, I guess."

"Also, you hate them," a different girl piped up. Her unspoken 'so we aren't telling you anything' hung in the air, noticed by everyone but Captain Underpants.

"That's right, in my misguided desire to maintain order in this building, I'm the fun police. I hate every kind of fun, so I also hate George and Harold. That is correct." Perfect. No one suspected a thing.

"No, I meant about where they've gone, specifically." The students shared another look, this one just pure confusion.

"I dunno, Staniel School, or something? You should know, man," said the same boy from before. He paled as soon as he realized what he'd just said, silently praying for no detention.

"Hm. Unfortunately, I suppose I should," mused Captain Underpants. "I'll take my leave now. Thank you, citizens! You have been quite helpful," he boomed.

There was no choice but to deal with his alter ego, he supposed...

...no choice, other than fly around town at top speed looking for his sidekicks, of course. That really should've been the first thing he tried.

After changing into his superhero outfit and grabbing his cape, Captain Underpants was off, patrolling around town as fast as he could fly. He'd scoured about seven blocks and sent about ten old ladies into a panic, when he spotted a giant poof of blonde hair from across an empty courtyard. He was more than halfway across the expanse of tile when jets of water shot up, creating a lovely pattern and soaking him completely.

Mr. Krupp, inexplicably hurtling through the air, screamed as he tumbled forward through the fountain and landed facedown at the feet of a disgruntled father and his teenage daughter. She used her purse to whack him over the head with a "Hmph!", before they walked away without a second glance.

He got up, body aching. Surprisingly, he'd only gotten a few scratches, despite his rather impressive skid. Mr. Krupp didn't appreciate this fact, though, since he was once again soaking wet and half naked in a public place.

Spitting a variety of inventive vulgarities, he made the trek back to school. No more notes, he vowed. No more communicating with Captain Underpants in any way. He didn't have to deal with Harold and George, and dangit, he wasn't going to deal with the wedgie weirdo either.

In reality, Captain Underpants had ended up going the opposite direction of the building where George and Harold were waking up from a night of staying up way too late and talking about cool movie ideas.

They woke up when someone rapped on the door and shouted, "Breakfast in ten minutes! Don't be late!"

After dressing quickly and yawning a lot, they made their way down to the cafeteria.

"Wow, this place smells really good, for a cafeteria."

"Don't you mean dining hall?" asked George, putting on the snobbiest accent he could muster.

Harold snickered. "Of course, that's right."

Breakfast wasn't nearly as good as George's dad's homemade waffles, but it was a far cry from the usual fare at Jerome-Horwitz. Harold piled sugary, marshmallow-laden cereal into a pancake, syrup and all, and ate it like a taco. George opted for scrambled eggs with two packets of sugar stirred in.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, no one seemed very eager to socialize with them. George also noticed the same divide as he had earlier, in the auditorium: it looked like everyone had split apart of their own accord.

"Look, there's Melvin," said Harold around a mouthful of breakfast taco. He gestured towards where Melvin was sitting at a round table, talking enthusiastically to a group of nerds. "I've never seen him that excited about anything but extra credit."

"Yeah. He must love it here."

"I mean, who wouldn't?"

"Fair point," conceded George.

After breakfast, the boys headed to class with quite a bit of dread. This dissipated somewhat when they arrived and saw their teacher, who looked like he'd accepted the futility of his life many years ago. He had a drooping mustache and patchy hair, and his voice was nasal as he introduced himself to the class as Mr. Hyde.

"Do these, and hand them in before lunch." He passed out a stapled packet of worksheets, and sat back down behind his desk, clicking around on his computer with a glazed expression.

George leafed through his before turning to Harold with a questioning look. In response, Harold stuck out his tongue and dropped his packet on the floor with a splat. Several kids turned to stare at him, but the teacher didn't even blink.

"I mean, at least he's not making us memorize countries, right?" whispered Harold, once he was sure no one was paying attention any more.

"It's like they just... gave up on teaching us junk," said George.

"Yeah. Weird," Harold agreed.

"It's awesome." Grins spread across their faces as George pulled out a half-finished comic and a box of crayons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy inconsistent update schedule, Batman!  
> ...In any case.  
> I swear it's just a few chapters til the end, now - maybe five, or thereabouts. I don't have a plan, who do you think I am? Someone with impulse control? Pssh.


	17. Chapter 17

They had just started working on their comic when Harold looked up, an expression of shocked realization on his face. "George," he said, slowly.

"Yeah?" George was already writing furiously.

"Does Captain Underpants know we're here?"

"What? Of course he..." George trailed off, setting down his pencil. "Oh, no. That's a problem, right?"

"Uh, yeah, it's a problem. He could tear up the whole town looking for us!"

"Okay, well, we'll be home for the weekend. We can go check up on him, since we know where Mr. Krupp lives." George paused. "Also, I just realized how creepy that is to say out loud."

"It'll be too late by then," Harold fretted. "What if he assumes we've been kidnapped by a supervillain again?"

"Maybe no one will be stupid enough to snap their fingers around Mr. Krupp for a while?" George tried his hardest to be reassuring.

"Come on, George. That never happens."

"Yeah, actually, you're right."

"So what do we do now?" Harold started biting his nails, leg bouncing furiously.

"We can't do anything until class is over, first of all." George glanced at their teacher in the front of the room. He was still staring directly at his monitor. "Actually, nah, we could probably sneak out. We need a plan first, though."

"We could send a letter, but that would take even longer than just waiting. Maybe a carrier pigeon? How do those work? We could probably catch a pigeon, right?"

George shook his head. "No, we'd have to make sure the Captain read it. Plus, I haven't seen a single pigeon since we got here."

"Call our parents? Pretend to be seriously ill?"

"Hah, no way, man. Do you know how much trouble I could get in for that? So much trouble. Metric tons of trouble."

"Alright, so..." Harold thought for a moment, trying to calm himself. "Alright. Hear me out on this, okay?" George nodded. "We could ask Melvin."

"Are you serious? That kid hates our guts! He's basically been avoiding us ever since we got here."

"Sure, but he knows firsthand what kind of havoc Captain Underpants can get up to. He probably has a teleporter, too, or something crazy. That'd solve everything."

"I mean, it wouldn't surprise me." George nodded. "Okay. There's no way he'd listen to us now, since he's probably in class, so we'll have to talk to him at lunch. For now, wanna just work on some comics?" He offered Harold a pencil, and the curly haired boy took it gladly.

They spent the rest of class coming up with ideas for new superheroes, since nobody here had any idea who Captain Underpants was. It had to be a fresh start, they decided. Between George's stress and Harold's nerves, though, their creativity wasn't flowing quite right, and nothing clicked.

Lunchtime rolled around, and Melvin was late. By now, George and Harold were so worried, they couldn't even bring themselves to eat the delicious, sugary monstrosities they'd concocted.

When Melvin walked in, he looked like he'd stayed up all night and then been hit by a bus: his normally carefully groomed hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot. George and Harold ran up to him.

"Melvin, we need your help," said George.

"This is really important," said Harold, simultaneously.

Melvin glared at them blearily for a few seconds. "Hold on. Give me a minute," he replied, before moving towards a coffee machine and pouring himself a cup. He didn't add any cream or sugar; he just went to sit at a table as George and Harold followed.

"Isn't that stuff really gross?" asked Harold.

Melvin downed half the cup, before slamming it down on the table. "Yes," he said, staring Harold straight in the eyes. "Now, what did you want? This had better be good."

"It's not. It's bad, actually."

"Captain Underpants doesn't know we're here," said George. "Who knows what he'd do if he thinks we were in trouble!"

"Okay. And this has to do with me, how?"

"You have to help us get back to Jerome-Horwitz and tell him."

"We were hoping you had a teleporter," added Harold.

"What? No."

"Melvin, seriously," said George.

"No, I meant I don't have a teleporter. I have a bus pass. I'll help you guys, but I'm coming with you, because frankly? I don't trust you on public transportation alone." He adjusted his glasses. "I have an errand I'll need to run, anyway."

"Alright, fine, let's go." Harold started to stand up.

"Not, not today. I have to finish something first. Meet me after school tomorrow in the library." He sipped at his coffee while George and Harold waited for him to continue, but Melvin just said, "Could you guys maybe sit somewhere else now?"

"Alright, geez."

Harold and George suffered through another day and a half of school, full of worksheets that never got graded and unsuccessful superhero ideas. When the meeting time finally rolled around, Melvin was late once again.

"Do you think he's even coming?" Harold asked.

"I don't know why he'd agree to this if he wasn't," replied George.

When Melvin finally arrived, it was almost five o'clock. He looked even more tired than yesterday, somehow.

"Alright, let's go," he said, leading them out of the library.

"Isn't it way past when school lets out? There's no way Mr. Krupp will still be there. We'll have to go to his house," said George.

"You guys know where he lives?"

"It's a long story," Harold told him.

"Oh, I'm sure."

Melvin walked the halls with so much purpose, any teacher who saw him didn't even question him. They boarded the next bus, found the closest stop to Curmudgeon Drive on a map, and settled in.

Most kids would be intimidated by riding the bus alone, but Melvin had done it so many times, it had become routine. While George and Harold talked quietly, he surveyed his surroundings. Once convinced the unimpassioned adults weren't going to pay attention to him, he took something fuzzy out of his shirt pocket and put it on his shoulder.

"Whoa, what's that?" asked Harold.

"Sulu here is a project we've been working on in my classes. He's a bionic hamster, outfitted with a titanium endoskeleton and a microchip I helped design myself, as well as a few other improvements." He swelled with pride. "I got permission to take him out of the school for a while, and collect data on how he responds to environmental stimulation." Sulu was looking around wildly.

"Neat, right? Hooking up a microchip to his nervous system wasn't actually too hard once we got all the programming kinks worked out, but as it happens, augmenting bones with titanium is really hard, so we...we used spiders and duct tape. Are you guys even listening?"

"Can I hold him?" Harold asked, completely ignoring the tremendous amount of effort that went into this marvel of science.

"I mean, sure, you can try, I suppose. I doubt he'd want to be- Oh." Melvin stared in disbelief as Harold put out his hand and Sulu jumped onto it eagerly, sniffing the air with excitement. Harold looked like he was about to explode with happiness. "Nevermind, then."

"This. Is so cool," he said, grinning wildly.

"Can he do tricks? Sulu, play dead," said George.

On Harold's palm, the hamster swayed dramatically, putting a paw up to his head. He staggered and fell with a theatrical limp, a few coughs wracking his tiny body, before sticking his tongue out and lying still. George clapped.

Melvin watched on, unimpressed. "What kind of cyborg hamster can't do tricks? Here, this is more impressive. Sulu, engage lasers."

The hamster sprang up into a battle stance, eyes glowing red. Melvin tossed a piece of a cotton ball he had for this exact purpose into the air, and Sulu incinerated it with a laser blast from his eyes. No one on the bus seemed to notice, or react in any way.

"Now, that was hard to do. I integrated some targeting algorithms used by NASA to launch-"

"Does he have missiles? Please tell me he has missiles," begged Harold.

"Er, no," said Melvin, annoyed at the interruption. "I was concerned the combustible fuel would rupture-"

"Can he fly?" asked George.

"I mean, sure." He was really getting sick of the boys' failure to appreciate his scientific genius. "I don't want him wreaking havoc on this bus, though. His robotic endoskeleton has a hydraulic strength of-"

"He has super strength?" they asked, simultaneously. Melvin could practically see the stars in their eyes. He sighed.

"Melvin, I'm going to be honest," said George. "Most of the time, you're a stubborn, know-it-all jerk."

"Gee, thanks."

"But this? This is the best thing ever."

"Well, it's not like you could- wait, what?"

"I love him," squeaked Harold.

Melvin rolled his eyes. "You know what, if I let you guys play with Sulu, will you leave me alone and let me read this treatise on mechanogenetic engineering?"

"Sure, yeah, have fun with your nerd stuff," said George, not taking his eyes off the hamster.

Melvin didn't trust George and Harold as far as he could throw them (which was not far at all, because of his pathetic nerd arms). He did trust the safety overrides he'd programmed into the hamster's microchip, though, so he had no problem delving into his reading to pass the time.

He woke up when the bus showed up fashionably late at Manilla St, which was a few blocks away from Curmudgeon Drive.

Neither George nor Harold remembered the exact address, so they reluctantly gave Sulu back to Melvin and set off to search out Mr. Krupp’s house. “You two take care of it. I don’t want any part of this,” Melvin told them, before returning to explaining the concept of grass to his bionic hamster, who was currently frolicking through it like a tiny, overweight lamb.

Mr. Krupp’s house was only distinguishable from every other house in the neighborhood by how impressively dull it was. The boys approached it cautiously.

It took a few moments for Mr. Krupp to answer after George and Harold rang the doorbell. When he opened the door and saw them, he jumped backwards, arms flailing. “Whuh-” He didn’t get any farther in his babbling, because George snapped his fingers.

“Sidekicks! You’re okay!” Captain Underpants grinned and swept the boys up into an impressively tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine, please let us go, now,” George managed.

“I can’t breathe,” said Harold, pulling at the Captain’s arm.

He dropped them, still grinning. “I’m so happy you boys are safe! I tried searching the town for you, but there was a fountain, and... well, I’m not too clear on all the details.”

“We’re definitely safe, but we’re not going to be around school for a while,” Harold told him.

“Yeah, we transferred. So it’s really, really important that you not worry about us, or break down any walls trying to save us, because we’re definitely alright, alright?”

"It's just six months. We're probably coming back to school for next year."

“Oh, I see,” he said pensively. “Well, I certainly will miss you boys, but if you’re sure this is what you want, then I support your decision wholeheartedly!” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I just wish you told me before you went gallivanting off into the great unknown.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Harold said.

“Yeah, sorry. It was sort of... It was a stressful time for us,” George explained.

“I understand.” Captain Underpants nodded, the picture of seriousness. “If that’s the case, though, let’s go get ice cream before you leave. I’ll even wear my disguise, so no one tries to arrest us!”

“Heck yeah!” Harold grinned.

One trip to the ice cream shop later, George and Harold bid the waistband warrior goodbye and returned to the bus stop, where they found Melvin dozing under a tree with Sulu resting on his hair.

“Is everything resolved?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Harold. “It actually went way better than I expected it to.”

“Everything should be totally fine from here on out,” George added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet? I think so. Getting better at endurance writing, y'all!  
> Next chapter's when we finally FINALLY learn what Ms. Annett's up to. It'll be great. I'm sure you're all excited. :)c


	18. Chapter 18

Over the next few days, George and Harold completed their first comic about a bionic hamster who fought giant sentient hamster wheels. After they found the building’s copier, it was a wild success amongst their classmates, and the boys eagerly began planning a sequel.

Melvin, meanwhile, made some improvements to Sulu’s robotic coding, and set about adding a variety of improvements including martial arts, javelin throwing, and chess strategy. They were a wild success with his classmates, as well as Ms. Annett, who constantly pushed him to keep working. Even if it meant late nights, early mornings, and a moderate to severe coffee addiction, he was happy to do it: his grades were even better than perfect, after all, with all the extra credit he was racking up, and that was all that mattered.

The weekend came and went. George and Harold hadn’t realized just quite how much they’d missed their treehouse: they worked on their series with new gusto, reinvigorated by visiting their old hideaway.

Melvin, meanwhile, hadn’t realized just how little his parents had missed him. He spent most of his time holed up in his room, poring over dense, jargony scientific papers and testing theories with his home lab equipment.

On Monday, he returned to school as early as he could, before most of the other students had even arrived. While heading to the library to find the latest issue of the American Journal of Human Genetics for some light reading, Melvin passed by Ms. Annett’s office. In true impractical, modern style, the entire wall of the room that faced the hallway was made of glass.

On her desk sat a report littered with highlighted portions in a variety of colors and red pen scribblings, the pages laid out next to each other haphazardly. It must be something she was grading, Melvin thought, when something made him do a double-take.

He walked closer to examine it, and his suspicions were confirmed. The title page definitely had his name on it, and he was even able to make it out: “Improving Upon the Work of Steinberg, et al: Optic Nerves, Camera Lenses, and Rainbow Mantis Shrimp”.

That wasn’t right - he’d gotten that report back, and he’d received a perfect score.

He couldn’t quite make out what she’d been writing from here. To read it, he would have to go into her office.

Melvin fretted, standing still in the hallway as he weighed his options. On the one hand, maybe it was a mistake, and that was just the title page of his report. The other papers could be something totally different.

On the other hand, maybe she’d secretly hated it, and found a bunch of flaws after handing it back to him, and now she was going to take away the 100 he’d gotten and replace it with a 95, or, even worse, a 90.

Okay, well, the door was probably locked, he rationalized. Surely, she wouldn’t leave her office door open.

He pulled on the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Okay. Well. One look couldn’t possibly hurt, Melvin told himself.

Hurriedly ducking into Ms. Annett’s office, he reached out to pick up one of the papers, only to freeze when footsteps echoed down the hallway towards him. Panicking, Melvin ducked under the desk and curled up into a ball, eyes closed. He was going to get into so much trouble if he was caught, he knew it, this was a terrible idea...

In front of him, blood-red high heels stepped into view, followed by a pair of practical, somewhat worn loafers.

“It’s really quite amazing,” came Ms. Annett’s voice from above. “It would’ve taken me weeks, maybe months to figure out some of this, but with the right reference material and a little encouragement, he’s practically done all of our work for us.” Under the desk, Melvin's eyes shot open. Could they be talking about him?

“I’m still not sure about this whole plan of yours...”

“Ours. And, relax, no one’s going to notice anything. Parents will let schools do just about anything if it's for the sake of their children’s education.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I mean, microchips? Modifying their brains? I know how much effort you’ve put into this, but if you wanted to take over Piqua, you could’ve simply built an army of robots.”

Melvin felt his breath catch in his throat. This was what he’d been working on: some maniacal plot to turn the troublemakers, rebels, and misfits of the classroom into some kind of bionic army.

Sure, he’d always wanted George and Harold disciplined properly, but never this!

George and Harold.

Oh, no.

“Dr. Hyde, we’ve been over this,” Ms. Annett said coldly. “Humans beat out robots any day, once physical strength isn’t a factor. And in any case, they’re already lost causes, every single one of them. Just think how much potential they’ll have, once they’ve been... fixed up, a bit.” 

Dr. Hyde stepped back. “They’re just children, Tyra.”

“Hm. Just children, you say," she replied, clearly disappointed. "Adults do tend to underestimate children, don’t they? I mean, just look at what they’ve helped us do.” It took every ounce of self-control Melvin had not to start hyperventilating.

“Tyra-”

The high heels stepped towards the loafers. “Need I remind you, I still have plenty of evidence to have your doctorate revoked. Name change irregardless, let’s not forget what our arrangement is, you and I. You’re really in no position to question my authority.”

A moment of heavy silence passed, Melvin absolutely certain they could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“Right,” said Dr. Hyde, sounding defeated.

Ms. Annett walked to her desk, and Melvin tensed. She gathered up his report and straightened the papers’ edges against the desk, before walking away. He thanked every god ever invented she didn’t notice him.

“I need to get a few more things from the supply closet. Once they show up, send your students into my office individually. I’ve got a procedure worked out and everything, thanks to our star pupil.” She paused. “Actually... send in George Beard and Harold Hutchins, first. I’ve got a hunch.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, let’s just say... it’s lucky I’m not doing something as conspicuous as marching into town with a robot army.” Melvin could hear the sinister smile in her voice, but his mind was racing too much to decipher what she meant.

After they left, he stayed there for a solid few minutes, trying desperately to calm his breathing. This was all his fault, and he had to do something, anything... he just had no idea what.

Then it hit him. He’d just have to do what he did best.

Melvin scurried out from under the desk, retrieving Sulu from his classroom before running out of the school, heading towards the bus stop he’d used with Harold and George. Practically, the hamster probably wouldn’t be much help, but Melvin felt better knowing he had something laser-y with him.

It was about five minutes until the next bus was scheduled to arrive, so Melvin stood at the bus stop, too jittery to sit down.

“I’m telling,” he said darkly.

\------

Nowadays, Mr. Krupp passed his time doing administrative paperwork, staff reviews, and stuff that was actually part of his job, rather than keeping tabs on George and Harold near-constantly. It was, frankly, weird.

He realized he’d grown so used to the boys causing chaos, that their absence was jarring. Several times, he found himself waiting for Melvin to burst in shouting about some kind of extravagant prank or rule the two had broken. After a while, that expectation settled in as a niggling worry in the back of his mind. At one point, he even thought they'd showed up at his house, or something. Mr. Krupp hadn't ended up in his underwear, though, so it must have been just his mind playing tricks on him.

Eventually, he was able to put a name to the feeling: it was boredom.

So when Melvin Sneedly showed up in his office, panting like he'd run the entire way from the nearest bus stop to the school, he had to try his hardest not to seem too excited.

"You know, I really thought I'd be seeing less of you once you transferred," he said gruffly.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Mr. Krupp noticed something was wrong. Instead of his usual smug, holier-than-thou smile, Melvin looked downright panicked - in fact, he was practically trembling, though Mr. Krupp couldn't tell if it was fear, nerves, or something else entirely. "Melvin, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, between pants. "I'm not the issue."

"Well, what are you doing here, then?" The boy flinched, like he'd been struck. Unbeknownst to Mr. Krupp, knowing what he had to do hurt the dutiful, teacher's pet part of Melvin tremendously - which was, of course, all of him.

"Sir, I'm really, really, incredibly sorry about this." And with that, he snapped his fingers.

Captain Underpants stared at him in shock. "Anti-Humor Boy? What are you doing here?"

"Okay, I know we never got along really well, but you have to listen to me," said Melvin, putting out his hands placatingly. "George and Harold are in trouble!"

The superhero grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, lifting him into the air. "What did you do with them, fiend?"

"No, no, I didn't do anything, put me down!"

"Are you telling me you're... reformed?"

"Yes, sure, that. Definitely that. Let me go. Please." Captain Underpants dropped him to the floor.

"Hm... I’d give you the benefit of the doubt, but if my sidekicks don’t trust you, neither do I! So you’re gonna have to prove it."

"What- How do I do that? We don't have time for this. You need to follow me, right now."

"Nuh-uh. Prove you're reformed, or I'm not going anywhere."

Melvin sighed. "Maybe Mr. Krupp would've been easier to deal with," he muttered, rubbing at his temples.

Alright, he could do this. It was simple, really. He just had to prove he had a sense of humor, and, by George and Harold's definition, that meant doing things that were embarrassing and undignified. There had to be an easy solution here.

...He had an idea. And he hated it.

Already gritting his teeth, Melvin took a sleeping Sulu out of his pocket and held him on his palm.

"Nice try, Anti-Humor Boy, but a small, furry, and adorable rodent doesn't prove anything!"

"I know, I know, hold on." Sulu growled, annoyed at being bothered, and curled up.

"Sulu," Melvin began. "Do this."

The hamster flicked his ears back angrily, only to stop short when Melvin hesitantly blew a raspberry into his palm.

Sulu caught on almost immediately, pressing both his palms to his lips and blowing an impressively loud, extended raspberry using his vacuum pump improved lungs and his unnaturally adorable, gigantic cheeks.

There was an instant of silence.

Captain Underpants burst out into laughter, and Melvin started laughing nervously too, an instant too late. “Alright, okay, Anti-Humor Boy, you’ve proven yourself. I know for a fact that my sidekicks are doing just fine, though! They told me there was absolutely, positively, no way they were kidnapped by a supervillain, or in danger, or anything.” He grinned triumphantly.

“They've been kidnapped by a supervillain,” Melvin said flatly, tucking Sulu back into his pocket.

The Captain’s expression instantly turned to one of concern. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Well, basically. They thought it was just a fancy private school - I mean, I did, too - but it’s really a gigantic plot by Ms. Annett to turn kids into a robotic army!” Melvin looked at his shoes. “I might’ve accidentally... helped her, too.” He looked up again, determination glinting in his eyes. “So you really definitely have to come with me, right now!”

“Hm...” Captain Underpants put a finger to his lips, then nodded. “Okay. Even if you’re wrong, it’s always nice to visit my sidekicks! They’re really quite wonderful boys.”

“That’s not really the word I’d use to describe them, but sure.”

The Captain stripped to his underwear and tied his cape around his neck.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Melvin.

The superhero staggered dramatically. “I’m absolutely hurt that you would even consider saying such a thing to me, Anti-Humor Boy! And here I thought we were friends now.”

“Sure, sure, whatever. Come on.” He led the Captain out of Jerome-Horwitz and raced to the nearest bus stop, where he sat on a bench and stared into the distance for a few seconds.

It took approximately no time at all for Captain Underpants to get bored. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for the bus. That’s how I got here,” Melvin explained.

“Hah! What are you talking about? Superheroes don’t wait for buses!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly- hey! What are you doing?” Captain Underpants cut him off by grabbing Melvin around the waist and flying up into the air.

“Oh jeez, I’m gonna hurl,” muttered Melvin as the world fell away below him. He closed his eyes as the Captain spiraled higher.

“Well? Tell me where my sidekicks are, Anti-Humor Boy!” He shifted Melvin to one arm, putting the other one to his mouth thoughtfully. “Anti-Humor... We’re going to need to come up with a new name for you.”

“Um, my name’s Melvin.”

“Melvin! Perfect! Lead me to my sidekicks, Melvin! Tra-la-laa!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I'm a bit nervous about this one.  
> Let me know if you liked it! Or didn't! Even criticism helps me grow as a writer! Plus I'm a glutton for attention of any kind!


	19. Chapter 19

George and Harold had long ago lost track of the number of times they'd been sent to the principal's office. This time, though, it carried with it a new and decidedly unpleasant sense of dread.

"Man, I was hoping we wouldn't have to talk to Ms. Annett too much once we got here," George lamented.

"Yeah. I know I've said it before, like, a dozen times, but she creeps me out."

"She's definitely unsettling," agreed George.

"Do you think this is about the worksheets?" fretted Harold. "We haven't been doing great on the worksheets."

"Dude, no one's even been trying. There's no way we would get singled out for that. Who knows," added George, shrugging. "Maybe she's just a really big fan of our comics."

Harold laughed nervously. "Yeah, sure."

They could see Ms. Annett at her desk, writing something in a notebook. Once the boys approached, she put her pen down and looked up. "Come on in," she said, in a tone friendlier than George and Harold had ever heard her use before. She stood, and motioned for them to come inside.

"Go on, take a seat," she said, once they'd entered. "Don't be shy, now, I won't bite."

Harold and George exchanged a dubious look, before sitting in the chairs she'd offered them.

"Now, I'm sure you're both very curious as to why I've called you down here."

Before either of them could reply, metal cords shot out of their chairs, fastening with a series of clicks and restraining the boys where they sat.

"And I'm not going to tell you."

"Hey, what's the big idea?" shouted George, as Harold pulled at his restraints.

"I just said I'm not going to tell you," she scowled. "Do try to pay attention, for once," she scolded, rolling a cart out from behind her desk. It was littered with an ominous and slightly horrifying array of scientific equipment.

"Whoa, hey, what's all that? Are you some kind of supervillain, or something?" George asked, voice strained.

"So many questions!" She sighed. "See, I feel like that label's thrown around a bit too liberally these days. Any fool with a robot can be a supervillain." Ms. Annett paused thoughtfully. "I suppose I aspire to be, yes. Now, hold still." She began sorting through her equipment, while Harold panicked and George's mind raced furiously for some way to escape, or at least stall for time.

Suddenly, Ms. Annett's head turned sharply to look out into the hallway. The boys followed her gaze, and there, posing triumphantly, was Captain Underpants, with Melvin cowering a short distance behind him.

"Never fear, sidekicks!" He shook his finger in the air, floating a bit off the ground. "Anti- I mean, Melvin, my thanks for alerting me to this threat. Boys, I'll save you from this nefarious evildoer! In the name of truth, justice, and all that is pre-shrunk and cottony!"

While he was monologuing, Ms. Annett grabbed a remote control off of her desk and hit a switch. In the stretch of hallway just outside her office, fire sprinklers went off, soaking the area and splashing onto Captain Underpants' head.

"What- Whuh- Melvin, what's going on?" spluttered Mr. Krupp. Ms. Annett hit another button, and the sprinklers shut off.

"Oh no, oh, this is bad," Melvin said, quivering as he chewed on his fingernails in panic. "It's all my fault..."

"Get ahold of yourself, bub! Where am I? What's happening?"

"Sure, why don't you tell him, Melvin," Ms. Annett chimed in. "Since everyone's all here. Why not."

"Help!" shouted George, as he and Harold struggled to get free.

"Okay, so she-" Melvin pointed at Ms. Annett. "She's going to use some stuff I researched to put microchips into Harold and George's brains and make them part of some kind of bionic super robot army and take over Piqua and the world and it's all my fault!" Melvin looked at Ms. Annett fearfully, expecting her to fly into some sort of rage at the accusation.

Instead, she considered him thoughtfully, hand tucked under her chin as if she was analyzing his words. She shrugged.

"Yeah, that's about the long and the short of it," she replied calmly.

"So- so I needed Captain Underpants to defeat her," finished Melvin, wilting under Mr. Krupp's incredulous stare as George and Harold redoubled their efforts.

"Then it's too bad Captain Underpants isn't here!" crowed Ms. Annett gleefully, turning on the sprinklers as Mr. Krupp started snapping his fingers desperately. No amount of finger snapping could turn him into Captain Underpants, though, at least not while water was raining down around him.

"Argh!" He pounded on the glass in desperate frustration, still soaked and shaking, as Harold and George yelled.

"Oh, wow! Looks like you can't break through reinforced glass without those fancy superpowers of yours, would you believe it?" She put her hands to her face, voice dripping with mock surprise. Mr. Krupp gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts.

Melvin jolted, suddenly remembering Sulu, who was watching from his shirt pocket. "Sulu, break the-"

"Sulu, override protocol four two zero," came Ms. Annett's voice, cutting through his own.

The bionic hamster shot out of Melvin's pocket. "Restrain them," ordered Ms. Annett. Sulu grabbed Melvin and Mr. Krupp and hoisted them into the air, seemingly without any effort at all.

"Aaand that's the only real threat to my plans taken care of. Goodness, I wish I had a to-do list to check off. That would be so much more satisfying." She walked up to the glass wall. "Wow, without that superhero alter ego, you're pretty much useless, huh."

Suspended there by a hamster, of all things, powerless, soaked, and pathetic, he knew she was right. Even a man who shamelessly paraded around in his underwear was of more help than Mr. Krupp in this moment.

He was just a washed-out elementary school principal, who couldn't even save the students he was supposed to be in charge of.

Ms. Annett's expression morphed into a twisted grin as she picked up a syringe from the cart she'd wheeled into her office, then turned to wave at him, Harold and George still struggling against their restraints all the while. For some reason, that smile sickened him even more than anything she'd done so far.

As the boys protested loudly, he realized why. That was the same expression he must've worn thousands of times, leering down at students' misfortune. It was the face of someone who took pleasure in knowing others were being beaten down. The exact same expression that-

Suddenly, he remembered.

For an instant, he was a kid again, with the high schoolers from down the street looming over him and jeering. One of them, the leader, had his backpack. He was emptying all of his things haphazardly, dropping books and papers into the mud.

His friends laughed as Ben bit back tears. The older boy made eye contact as he took a pencil, grinned, and snapped it clean in two.

When Ben- no, when Mr. Krupp rushed forward, shards of glass cascaded around him with a crash.

Once the cacophony of breaking glass ended, he was vaguely aware that he'd shoved Ms. Annett backwards, far further than he should've been able to, really. The syringe laid abandoned on the floor beside her, and she wasn't smiling anymore. For a moment, it was silent. He stared.

Her eyes were filled with pure, undiluted hatred.

"Kick her butt!" yelled Harold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just about finished, here. Hope you're enjoying the ride.


	20. Chapter 20

In writing, there exists a device called the "tragic backstory".

Typically, it's used to humanize an otherwise irredeemable character. It gives context to a villain's terrible actions, for example, or can even be used to garner sympathy for a protagonist.

But in this case, Mr. Krupp didn't even have that excuse.

There's a lesson here, though: there's always a reason for why people act the way they do. And he was no different.

His parents weren't so bad. Sure, they were a little serious, but that was natural: his mother was a doctor, his father was a lawyer, so neither of them really had much time for him. Their family was completed by a disagreeable cat named Scruffy, who liked puking in his shoes.

Besides, it could've been worse. They just talked about his grades constantly, about how proud they would be once he finished law school, always mentioning how he would need to shape up first, put in more effort. Tons of kids' parents were concerned about their grades. That was normal. It could've been worse.

He never really had friends he could compare with, but he was sure their parents didn't listen to them either. If he cried, he was being too loud and he should shut up. If he was having trouble with his homework, it was because he was stupid and didn't pay attention enough.

He resented it at the time, but it was obvious, in retrospect. Children, himself included, were hardly even people. They just needed to be whipped into shape by adults.

Sure, it wasn't extremely fun when his mother had to meet with patients on the night of his 7th grade basketball championships, and it wasn't great when he won his high school's spelling bee and his dad told him he should've joined the math team, but his childhood was pretty good, all things considered.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he lies awake at 2am, bemoaning Captain Underpants and all his life choices up until this point.

He could've gone through law school: lord knows he had decent enough grades, since his parents didn't really encourage him to do things like ""make friends" or "have fun". But at some point, he lost motivation, couldn't focus on anything. He was moody, irritable, and downright mean. His grades became as miserable as he was.

It was the middle of the night, studying for a government test when he finally snapped.

His parents didn't raise him like this. How many times had they said that line, by now? And they were right. They hadn't done a good enough job with him, clearly.

So he decided to become a teacher, partly just out of rebellion. He would never be a better lawyer than his father, but he could give kids the structure, routine, discipline they needed, and he could do it better than his parents ever had.

They insisted he was making a mistake. It was just an added bonus that he would get to prove them wrong.

Maybe some small part of him just wanted to figure out where in his childhood it all went wrong, like being around kids would help him figure it out. If that was true, he never acknowledged it.

The thing about having a terrible childhood is, that no matter how long you wear a tie and a scowl, you'll never quite stop wishing you'd had the chance to be a kid.

The thing about hypnosis is, it doesn't work at all on people who are resistant to suggestion.

Maybe Benjamin Krupp secretly, deep down, wanted the chance to act childish, for once. Maybe acting like a chicken, or a monkey, or an underwear-clad superhero, was a way to regain the one thing he'd ever wanted, the one thing that he never could understand: a childhood.

Or maybe a cereal box toy possessed supernatural powers. You can believe whatever you want to - stranger things have happened.

Mr. Krupp spent a moment in complete and utter shock, until Harold's voice broke through his reverie.

"Kick her butt!"

He took a closer look at Ms. Annett, who was already staggering to her feet with a vicious snarl.

How many times had it been drilled into him, as a kid? 'Violence is never the answer,' 'be the bigger man'.

Well, anyone who said that had clearly never dealt with a supervillain. He was going to make this fiend pay for what she'd done to her - his students. And it was going to be fun.

"Sulu, restrain him!" she screeched, floundering with her remote and finding the right button to make the sprinklers in her office activate.

The hamster flew towards Mr. Krupp, who reacted faster than even he thought possible, dodging left and forcing Sulu to swerve midflight.

His next move was to dive straight for Mr. Krupp's feet, and he jumped to avoid it, but somehow never felt his feet hit the ground. He was now suspended in midair.

Of course. The second story window, the fountain, it all made sense. He could fly.

Mr. Krupp took advantage of the new dimension of movement to fly to George and Harold and tear apart their restraints, sturdy metal tearing loudly in his hands. As he swooped back towards Sulu, the boys jumped out of their chairs and cheered him on, even Melvin offering shouts of encouragement.

As he approached, the hamster stared like he was trying to charge a laser, but blinked and shook his head furiously when water from the sprinklers got in his eyes. Instead, he chattered angrily and flew at full speed directly towards Mr. Krupp.

In that instant, Ben remembered what it was like playing basketball. The adrenaline rush was just the same, when it was the last ten seconds of a game and his team was in the lead. Weren't sports practically just regulated fights, anyway?

Just before Sulu crashed into him, Mr. Krupp dropped like a stone, only to shoot up again and turn so Sulu was between him and the wall. His arm shot out, pinning the hamster against the drab paint, which crumbled upon impact.

"End of the line, bub." He turned to face Ms. Annett, but she must have been inching towards the boys without anyone noticing, because she lunged towards Harold and latched onto his wrist, brandishing her distressingly large syringe threateningly.

"You get out of here and don't interfere with my plans, or your student here gets it." She moved the syringe closer to Harold's neck. He was frozen in fear, eyes squeezed shut, and Mr. Krupp berated himself for not getting the boys further away to safety.

Without even thinking, he left Sulu stuck in the wall to stretch another pair of underpants he didn't even know he had like a slingshot. He let go, and it knocked the syringe out of Ms. Annett's hands, sending it clattering to the ground.

He looked down at his own hands, laughter bubbling out of him with a snort. Underwear creation. Why not.

Ms. Annett snarled, lunging for Mr. Krupp, only for him to grab her arms and twist them behind her the way he'd seen done in so many cop dramas.

"That was awesome, Mr. K!" shouted George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's it!  
> I'll write a lil epilogue later if I feel so inclined, and there's probably a sequel coming sometime next month, so look forward to that! In the meantime, I'll be playing eight hours of Overwatch daily.  
> I'll see y'all around!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's dedicated to all the lovely people who continued commenting on this, long after I figured nobody cared. I did read all your comments, and thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This is the most fun I've ever had on a project, and even if it's a year late... here's that epilogue I promised you all so long ago. Please enjoy.

"You were just like - bam! Pow!"

"And she was like, 'Oh no!'"

"And then-"

Mr. Krupp let the boys chatter on while he called the police, then their parents.

Even with Piqua's admittedly incompetent police force, getting incriminating evidence about Ms. Annett's crimes was simple once Dr. Hyde stumbled upon the scene. His breakdown was dramatic, loud , and full of firsthand accounts of Ms. Annett doing all sorts of crimes, from littering to using child labor.

All of the students' parents were contacted, and all of them rushed over as soon as they could to tearfully embrace their children (except for Melvin's parents, who said he could "take care of himself", right before something exploded in the background).

Just before George and Harold's parents whisked them home, they ran over to a still-sopping Mr. Krupp, who had retrieved a fire blanket from the school to cover up with and was desperately trying not to draw any sort of attention to himself.

"Uh," said Mr. Krupp eloquently, before both boys threw their arms around him in the world's briefest hug.

"Thank you!" shouted George, before he turned to join Harold in running back to their parents. Mr. Krupp stared after them in bewilderment. Of all the things that had just happened, this had to be, by far, the strangest.

The way those two had looked at him before turning tail... it was almost like they thought he really was a hero.

So the list of superpowers he'd inherited from Captain Underpants included super strength, flight, underwear creation, of all things, and getting kids to like him. Tolerate him. Not resent him. There, that was superpower enough.

Mr. Krupp delivered a rushed cover story about Ms. Annett experimenting on his clothes to a policewoman who happened to wander over, then waited to make sure everyone had found their parents alright. When the crowd had just started to clear, he spotted Melvin standing at its fringe.

He made his way over. "Aren't your parents coming?"

"Um, well. No," Melvin replied, looking uncomfortably into the distance.

"How were you planning on getting home?" He must've sounded more accusatory than he'd intended, because Melvin jumped and fumbled a bus pass out of his pocket.

"I rely on public transportation. My parents say it builds self-sufficiency. Not that you have to worry about such things." He pushed up his glasses. "Seeing as you can fly now, and all."

"Yeah, I guess. I guess I can." It still hadn't really sunk in yet. "So, hey. You're the one who brought me here, right?"

"You'd be correct in that assumption, yes."

"I just wanted to say... thanks." For some reason, seeing his favorite student so dejected struck a chord with Mr. Krupp. "Weren't you scared of getting in trouble when you turned me into Captain Underpants?"

"Oh my god, you have no idea." Melvin groaned. "I was so scared they were going to lower my grades for misbehavior - when I had to get Captain Underpants to help, the only way I could think of to get him to believe I was reformed was having Sulu-" He stopped.

"Sulu's the hamster?"

"That's right. He was a test case for Ms. Annett's army, I guess," Melvin spat, resentful. Mr. Krupp nodded, letting the kid continue. "After all that extra credit I got from her, and how happy she was with me... I thought I was helping!"

"But there's more important things than extra credit, right?"

"What? No," Melvin retorted.

"Mhm. So that's why you risked losing it to save George and Harold."

"I mean- I just- it was a spur of the moment decision, okay? What could be more important than extra credit?"

"You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out." With that, Melvin left to walk towards the closest bus stop. Soon enough, Mr. Krupp retreated to his house to recover.

Going back to being Mr. Krupp, elementary school principal, after being Mr. Krupp, literal superhero, was incredibly bizarre. After they got back, Harold and George had gone a full two days without pulling any kind of prank. Mr. Krupp supposed that was his thanks for saving them.

He'd made an uneasy peace with Captain Underpants, too, after his "sidekicks" briefed him on what had happened with Ms. Annett. After deciding that "Mr. Evil Principle Krupp" wasn't beyond hope, his next order of business was, predictably, trying to get him to buy every sugary cereal known to man.

Mr. Krupp would deny it aggressively, but he'd tried flying, once. He stood in his small, mostly dead backyard and stared up at the lone oak tree that dared stay green among all the brown, willing himself to take flight, to no avail. Later, Captain Underpants told him he "wasn't not trying hard enough".

And Edith... was still Edith. Once she heard about his kitchen renovations being finished, she got him a new wall clock. It was bright pink, with glittery swirls around its edges, and it was unabashedly out of place in his drab, grey house. He loved it.

Supervillains and superheroes aside, life goes on.

\-----

It was a big one this time: live mice in Ms. Ribble's classroom. Despite the fact that they were relatively tame, she nearly fainted, and most of the class practically went berserk. Sulu the hamster, reassembled and recoded, ushered them out of a hole he'd cut in a window with his laser vision before anyone could apprehend them, much to Melvin's chagrin. Even without the mice as proof, though, nobody doubted Melvin and Ms. Ribble's story.

"Harold and George to the principal's office," grated Ms. Anthrope's voice through the loudspeaker.

Mr. Krupp was waiting in his office when the boys walked in. "Mice. In a classroom. What were you even thinking?" His voice rose in volume and pitch.

"That it'd be funny?" George replied.

"Where did you even get them?" Mr. Krupp asked incredulously.

"My cousin's in town for the weekend. She owns a pet shop," Harold supplied.

"The mice are totally safe though, don't worry. Sulu was in on it, so we'll get them back later. You should've seen Ms. Ribble's face!" The boys broke out in stifled laughter as Mr. Krupp gripped his desk, fuming.

"I can't believe I still have to say this to you two, but your pranks are rude, disrespectful, and not funny!"

"I dunno, Captain Underpants seems to think they are," said George, as he and Harold burst into another fit of barely controlled giggles. "And, hey. We're allowed bring furry things to school again now, right?"

Technicalities aside, Mr. Krupp was tired of explaining to these two why they had to shape up and get serious. Why he was right and they were wrong. Because they were very wrong, their whole attitude was-

With a crack, his desk splintered under his hands.

They all froze, before Mr. Krupp groaned and dialed Ms. Anthrope. "Diane, please have Mr. Ree bring in another desk top. Yes, another one. Yes, now. Collateral damage. Thank you," he said impatiently. He was lucky that everyone at this institution cared as little about their jobs as he did about Captain Underpants' taste in cereal.

"And you two. Detention. Go."

"Alright. See you, Mr. K!" George said.

"Yeah, bye!" Harold chimed in. They scurried off, as if released from invisible chains.

Mr. Krupp watched them leave. It was basically a nightmare, having them here, he decided. The stress was probably taking years off his lifespan. But, hey, it could be worse. They could be at some other school, where some other schmuck would have to deal with them. Or worse.

Yes, having them here, at Jerome-Horwitz Elementary, was definitely the best-case scenario. And he wasn't just saying that because he'd grown fond of them. Nuh-uh. No way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. You thought that was it, right? That's the end of Vizi's writing career in the Captain Underpants fandom? Well... now that summer's rolled around again, it's time for me to finally, FINALLY write that sequel I've had on the backburner. Y'all ready? And just for you, my lovely readers, for diligently waiting all this time... here's a brief preview of my next work, tentatively titled "Convene". So get hype, I suppose!
> 
>  
> 
> How do you define the end of the world?
> 
> For resident troublemakers George Beard and Harold Hutchins, the end of the world conjured up images like fireballs raining down, or maybe hordes of zombies. For resident tattletale Melvin Sneedly, it meant not getting an A on a test. For principal and habitual curmudgeon Benjamin Krupp, it meant not having to deal with George and Harold's shenanigans, or maybe the educational system getting decent funding, for once.
> 
> And for definitely human lunch lady Edith Star, it looked a lot like the transmission she'd just received from a trio of aliens.
> 
> She paced around the main room of her spaceship-turned-residence, tucked deep in the woods just outside of Piqua, Ohio. At least, it was comparable to pacing; her tentacles writhed nervously as she moved, coiling around themselves while she tried to figure out how to reply to her sisters.
> 
> ...But, actually, wait.
> 
> Before I can tell you that story, I have to tell you this story.


End file.
